


The Emptiness of His Chest

by of_dreamdust



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, In The Flesh AU, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, PDS sufferer!Cas, hvf!dean, mentions of anxiety and depression, pds!castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 15:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5095523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/of_dreamdust/pseuds/of_dreamdust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In The Flesh AU. Dean Winchester lost his best friend too early, but there was no time to grieve. The Rising happened; the Undead were roaming the streets, and the Living had to do everything they could to survive. But the cure was found and, as everything starts falling back into place, Dean has to deal not only with his brother leaving, but with his dead best friend coming back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy, I had a lot of trouble with tagging this fic!  
> I don't want to spoil anything, but I want to give you a fair warning: Cas (among other characters) is a PDS sufferer in this fic; he is undead and there will be mentions of how that happened. However, I don't think there's anything explicit, and no one really dies, so there's that.
> 
> A proper thank you note will be at the end of this fic!  
> [Art Masterpost is here!](http://silly-blue.livejournal.com/126152.html)
> 
> I hope you enjoy! ♥

_He was not dead yet, not exactly—_

_parts of him were dead already, certainly other parts were still only waiting_

_for something to happen, something grand, but it isn't_

_always about me,_

_he keeps saying, though he's talking about the only heart he knows—_

_He could build a city. Has a certain capacity. There's a niche in his chest_

_where a heart would fit perfectly_

_and he thinks if he could just maneuver one into place—_

_well then, game over._

_\- Richard Siken, Road Music_

 

 

“I am a Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferer. And what I did in my Untreated State was not my fault.”

Naomi hummed. “Okay, now say it like you mean it.”

Castiel sighed. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me something comforting? You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”

“You’re going home, Castiel,” she said, standing up from her chair, the white coat too big on her. She pointed to certain parts of Castiel’s results, which didn’t make any sense to him. “Your brain is functioning, you’re responding to medication, you’ve been through therapy.”

She turned back to him, and gave him a hard look. “Everything’s alright. We just have to finish this talk, and your dad’s coming to pick you up.”

Castiel ran his fingers through his hair. “What if I don’t want him to pick me up?”

Naomi raised her eyebrow. “You want someone else to pick you up?”

“No, I-,” Castiel closed his eyes. “I don’t think I want to go home.”

“You’re scared, Castiel,” she continued, leaning on the table in front of him. “You’re nervous, and you’re feeling insecure. That’s normal, alright? You’re _feeling_ , Castiel. That’s the most obvious proof that everything’s fine.”

“And what if he doesn’t want me back?”

“Your father almost came for you that very day we called him,” Naomi said calmly. “Unless you’re talking about someone else?”

Castiel sighed again. “I am a Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferer.” He paused, no real feeling in the words he was saying. “And what I did in my Untreated State was not my fault.”

Naomi clicked her tongue. “Okay, now, say it so I can believe you.”

Castiel finally opened his eyes. “I am a Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferer, and what I did in my Untreated State was not my fault.”

“Good,” Naomi said, smiling lightly. She slid the brown package across the table. “Blue, if I remember correctly?”

 

 

 

 


	2. Part 1: He Is Back

Dean Winchester jerked awake three minutes before his clock struck seven.

He felt drops of cool sweat sliding down his neck. _Screaming_ , this time. All he could hear in his dream was screaming. He rubbed a hand over his face and threw back the covers.

The sun was slowly rising outside, its rays illuminating the dark room. He reached for the clock before it started ringing, and turned the alarm off. Slowly, he rose to his feet and stretched his muscles. They were sore, even though he didn’t know what from. From the restless night, perhaps.

When he came downstairs, Sam was already awake, the smell of coffee filling the small kitchen.

Dean sighed, and reached for his cup. “You’re my favorite younger brother.”

“You’re only saying that because I’m your _only_ brother.” Sam was sitting at the table, chewing a piece of toast, his head bowed over the book in his hands. He didn’t raise it to look at Dean.

“And you should learn to take a compliment,” Dean responded, sipping at his coffee. “The exam’s today?”

Sam nodded his head, closing the book. “Yeah, it is.” He sighed, and reached to move his hair from his face. “I’ve been studying the whole evening, and it still feels like I don’t know shit.”

Dean grabbed a piece of toast from Sam’s plate. “You’ll do fine.”

Sam sighed, and stood up. “I can’t wait for this year to pass. I could’ve already been in college, if it weren’t for…” He made a vague hand gesture.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Sam cut him off. “Anyways, wish me luck. I’m gonna need it.” He grabbed his bag from the chair, and hurried out. “And don’t eat all the pie!” He yelled from the hallway.

Dean chuckled, but once again didn’t have time to answer before he heard the door closing.

“Stupid hyperactive kid,” he mumbled to himself.

***

“It’s the same as I left it,” Castiel murmured, looking around his room.

“Yeah, I couldn’t bring myself to…” His father sighed, standing at the threshold.

Castiel nodded his head, worrying the hem of his shirt between his fingers. “Well, I’m glad.” He turned around, finding his father smiling at him.

“I never thought…” he started, but trailed off.

Castiel bowed his head to look at his hands. “Who would’ve?”

His father nodded. “I’m just glad to have you back, son,” he said after a minute.

Castiel smiled back. He should’ve said something; he should’ve said he was glad to be back, or at least glad to see him again. And he was glad, he really was. But he couldn’t bring himself to speak, the feeling of guilt still burning in his chest.

“I made burgers for dinner,” father said, hopeful. “I know they were your favorite, so…”

Castiel let out a silent ‘oh’. He started messing with his sleeves. “I appreciate it, Dad, it’s just that… Umm…”

His father frowned. “What is it?”

“We don’t…” Castiel couldn’t bring himself to look at him. “We don’t eat.”

His father raised his eyebrows, shock evident on his face. “Well, that’s…” He scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t think they told me that at the Center.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel let out quietly.

“That’s okay,” he responded, waving his hand. “I should’ve…” He trailed off again.

“I could still keep you company, if you want to?” Castiel said after an awkward minute of silence.

“Yeah.” His father smiled. “Yes, that’d be great.”

Castiel smiled back and followed him out of his room.

***

“You almost done, boy?” Bobby yelled from inside, just as Dean closed the hood of the big grey car he was working on.

“Yeah, just finished,” Dean answered, using his forearm to wipe the sweat on his forehead. “What is it?”

“I was gonna go to Harvelle’s, grab some burgers and beer. You coming?” Bobby asked, pulling a cap from his head.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean sniffed. “It’s too hot here anyway.”

Bobby grunted a response and Dean followed him out of his garage. They walked in a content silence, Dean still trying to clean the grease from his hands with an old rug he usually held in his pocket.

Harvelle’s roadhouse was just one street away, and always filled with people. Ellen Harvelle’s daughter Jo was standing behind the bar, and Bobby waved her hello before he and Dean took a seat.

She showed up quickly after, carrying two burgers and bottles of beer.

Dean grinned at her. “God bless you, Jo.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know, it won’t kill you if you sometimes change before you come in here.”

Dean bit into his burger, still grinning. “Yeah, I still don’t wanna take that chance.”

“You should,” she said, resting her hands on her hips.

“Where’s your ma, Jo?” Bobby asked, sipping his bear.

“She’s back in the kitchen,” Jo answered, slightly tilting her head back. “You need her something?” She raised her eyebrow, barely hiding her smirk.

Bobby grunted something and rolled his eyes.

Dean chuckled. “C’mon, Bobby, we all know you have a crush on Jo’s mom, there’s no need denying that.”

Bobby shot him a glare, making Jo finally break into a laugh.

“You know, Bobby, my mother does like flowers, maybe you should-,”

“Aren’t you busy, kid?” Bobby cut her off, but his face turned bright red.

“Right.” Jo clicked her tongue, a small smile not leaving her lips. “I’ll leave you two gentlemen to enjoy your burgers, then.”

Dean chuckled again, and sipped at his beer. “We’re just trying to help, Bobby.”

“Boy, you better shut your pie-hole, before I...”

Bobby didn’t finish his treat before Dean raised his hands up in surrender. He did murmur something about crazy old bastard into his burger.

“How’s that brother of yours doing?” Bobby asked, chewing. “I haven’t seen him in years.”

Dean hummed. “Makes two of us.” He shrugged with one shoulder. “He’s either in school, or studying for school, or doing _something_ for school.”

“Yeah, well that’s good.”

Dean nodded reluctantly. “He’s just so eager to get out of here. Keeps saying he would have already been in college, if it weren’t for the Rising.”

Bobby grunted. “Well, he’s not wrong, is he? The Rising kept us all waiting in a way. Still does, actually.”

“Yeah.” Dean wiped his mouth with a paper towel. “I just wish he’d slow down a bit.”

Bobby threw him a look that Dean didn’t want to analyze any deeper. Yeah, he was afraid of Sam leaving. He was afraid of staying behind on his own.

After everything that had happened, he thought he was allowed to feel that way. He had spent an entire year walking around with a gun, three red letters of Human Volunteer Force sewed into his sleeves. Sam had wanted to help then, too, but Dean had forbidden him – well, as much as he could have anyway. Stupid kid had kept sneaking out and following Dean everywhere. With schools closed, Dean figured he hadn’t had anything better to do.

But the dead had been roaming the streets, and everyone had been scared, and nobody had known what to do. The nightmares of that time still haunted Dean at night.

And then some two English doctors had found a cure, and suddenly everything started falling back to normal. Sam had started school again, and Dean had been forced to put the gun down.

Sam was all for accepting the dead – no, the Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferers – back into society.

“No, but you see, there’s a whole bunch of stuff that needs doing,” Sam had eagerly explained to Dean, a few nights after returning to school. “There are laws that need to be revised, because they obviously aren’t appropriate for this situation. I mean, what happens if someone hurts one of the PDS sufferers? Can they be considered murderers or not? Some would say no, because they weren’t alive per se, but then that would be discrimination against PDS sufferers, and we don’t want that. They’re human after all.”

Dean had tuned out on the conversation, thinking about all the stuff he had seen and done during the Rising. Then, it had been considered necessary. Now, it would become a crime.

All Dean could do was nod his head and find a job to help Sam get into college. Thinking about the past didn’t make much sense anymore.

“Boy, did you hear a word I just said?” Bobby’s voice shook him from his thoughts.

Dean shook his head. “What? No, sorry, Bobby. What did you say?”

Bobby grunted something, standing up from the table. “Break’s over. We have one more car to take care of today.”

Dean nodded his agreement, and stood up to follow.

 

***

When Dean came home that evening, Sam was already home. Thankfully, he was preparing dinner in the kitchen, a pleasant smell filling the whole house.

“You’ll make someone a fine housewife one day, Sammy,” Dean said, ruffling the kid’s long hair in passing.

“Stop that,” Sam complained, kicking him in the arm. “Ungrateful jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean said loud enough for him to hear it.

“I heard in school that one more PDS is coming back to this neighborhood,” Sam commented, putting the meal on the table.

“Yeah?” Dean murmured, not really listening him, too busy grabbing a full plate for himself.

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. “You wonder who that might be?”

Dean shrugged. “What does that have to do with me?”

Sam threw his head back to move hair from his eyes. “I don’t know. It might be someone we know.”

Dean stuffed his mouth full, so he wouldn’t have to answer that. No matter how thoughtful Dean was trying to be, he still felt uneasy about the whole thing.

“You think they will be safe here?” Sam asked again.

Dean shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You know why.”

“Sam,” Dean said in warning tone. “All the ex HVF’s were supposed to hand down their weapons months ago. You went with me.”

“I’m not talking about you,” Sam said quickly. “I know you wouldn’t hurt them. Even though I do know you kept the Colt, Dean.”

After Dean didn’t respond to that, Sam kept going. “I’m worried about Gordon Walker and his little team.”

Dean sighed. “And what do you want me to do, Sam?”

Sam frowned, chewing before answering. “I don’t know. Nothing, I suppose. I just…” He put his fork down. “This is why I want to leave, Dean. I hope you understand that.”

Dean kept chewing, his eyes purposely glued to his plate.

“It’s not because of you, or anything. I just want to make a difference.”

“I know, Sammy,” Dean said, nodding. He tried to smile. “And I know you’ll make it.”

Sam smiled at him, and picked up his fork again. “I still wonder who it is. It might be that old lady down the street, what was her name? The one who always gave us cookies…”

Dean tuned him out. All he could suddenly think about was pale skin, and familiar eyes, and Sam so far away from him, and Dean not being able to protect him.

***

It had been three days since Castiel had come back home, and he had yet to go outside. He had spent most of his time reading his books, or watching television. News about extremist groups of PDS sufferers forming all over country, and their attempts at mass attacks at the Living didn’t exactly help to soothe his anxiety. People were edgy, and no matter how many times did his father try to reassure him, Castiel knew his town wasn’t that much different. If anything, it was worse. People in his town were often enough narrow-minded, and that did not combine well with panic.

“You should go out soon,” his father said, standing at the threshold of Castiel’s room.

Castiel paused the news he was watching on his laptop. “And go where?”

“I don’t know. Where were you going before?” His father arms were crossed on his chest, his face unsure. “Go to the Roadhouse, or come with me to the library. Lots of your friends are still here, Castiel.”

“It’s different now,” he said quietly.

His father sighed, and came to sit on his bed. “Look, Castiel, I know you are scared. But people around here are fine. We are all adapting slowly, you know? Just the other day, two PDS girls came to the library, asking for some books. And nobody cared, you know. I just gave them the books, and they left. It’s not perfect, not yet, but people are trying.”

When Castiel didn’t respond, he continued: “And I know you had some really good friends. Those Winchester boys from across the street?”

Castiel shivered at the sound of the familiar name.

“You were great friends, I remember. You hung out together all the time. They’re still here, you know? Maybe you should go to them. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind that you’re…”

Castiel opened his mouth to answer, but was saved when his watch started beeping. “Can you help me with the medicine before you go?” he asked, turning around to face his father.

He was watching him for a moment before he nodded. “Just think about it, alright?”

Castiel nodded, and reached behind himself to pull the shirt down. His father was shifting for a moment, and then came back, carrying a syringe with the blue bottle of liquid in his other hand. Castiel felt stinging in his back as his father found the deep hole in the upper part of his spine, and shot the medication in.

“What’s the point of being back if you don’t even take a chance, right?” his father said, squeezing his shoulder. And then he was gone.

Castiel heard the front door close, and rolled his shoulders. He went to the bathroom, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror. He bent over the sink and slowly took his lenses out. He rarely when took them out, mostly only during the night, and his eyes stung. He didn’t want to freak his father out, always keeping the mousse on, putting the make-up on carefully every morning, and wearing long-sleeved shirts. But most of all, he felt fear and shame whenever he looked at himself. The make-up he had gotten at the Center made it more bearable.

He washed his face, traces of mousse coloring the water in a sink. He closed his eyes, and straightened.

His hands shaky, he tried to speak: “I am a…” He took a deep breath, and tried again. “I am a Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferer.” His voice was shaking, sounding fake even to his own ears.

He tried to calm himself down, still not looking. “I am a Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferer.”

He counted to ten, and then opened his eyes. The make-up was still sliding off of his face in traces of water, so his truly pale skin was visible in some places. And his eyes were white, except for the uneven specks of black stretching from the center of his pupils.

Feeling of fear, and shame, and disgust washed over him, and he had to close his eyes before he threw up all over the bathroom. And the black goo wasn’t so easy to clean, he knew from his previous attempts.

“Bullshit,” Castiel murmured, throwing a towel over the mirror and escaping the bathroom as fast as he could.

He was pacing up and down his room when he heard a loud rumble of car from across the street. He came to the window and looked out.

The noise was coming from a big black car parking in front of the house. John Winchester’s car, Castiel remembered.

A young boy with long brown hair came out from the passenger’s side, pulling two big shopping bags with him.

“I’ll be damned,” Castiel murmured, pressing closer to the window. “Sam Winchester.”

He was taller than Castiel remembered. Older, too. He could be about Castiel’s age now, or even more. Castiel wondered if he still went to school. He remembered Sam’s insane crush on a girl named Ruby, and how she actually hadn’t been a good influence on him. Once John Winchester had forbidden him to go to a party with her, and it had been a louder fight than Castiel had ever heard before.

Now, Sam Winchester was grinning, and speaking to someone in the car, even though Castiel couldn’t hear what. When the driver’s door opened and a tall figure stepped out of the car, Castiel’s breath stopped in his lungs.

Dean Winchester. With his short sandy hair, and deep green eyes. Castiel remember the freckles that were spilled across his cheeks and his nose, and how once Castiel had tried and failed to count them all.

Dean looked older, too. His face was more serious, despite the light smirk that was playing on his lips as he listened to his brother speak. He looked more grown-up than Castiel remembered.

Castiel watched him open the trunk of the car and take out more shopping bags. Sam went in front of him and opened the door of their house. Once they were inside, Castiel felt his legs shaking and he slid to the floor.

He had no heartbeat anymore, but if he had, he was sure he would’ve been able to hear it in his ears. This way he was only left with deafening silence, and a feeling of guilt eating at his heart.

***

The room was dark, and Dean didn’t know where he was going. He felt something cracking under his boots, but didn’t dare to look what it was. His palms were sweating, and the Colt felt unsteady in his hand.

He felt movement more than he heard it. A loud roar, and suddenly there were hands on his neck and teeth clicking just inches from his face. Dean kicked back, and pulled the trigger. There was a loud bang and then silence.

He felt the black goo dripping on his hands, but cold hands on his neck let go, and the pale dirty body fell with a loud thud.

It was only then that Dean was able to see its face. The eyes were blank, and almost completely white, face smudged with black and red, but Dean would know that face everywhere, that dark hair and just slightly pointy nose.

“No!” Dean screamed, and woke up in his bed.

His heart was pounding, and he could feel drops of sweat sliding down his face. His chest was rising and falling, his lungs fighting for air. It took him a full minute to orientate, to realize he’s in his room, his Colt unneeded in the drawer near his bed.

“It wasn’t real,” he whispered. Dean closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “It’s all over now.”

He wasn’t sure how much of that is true, but then his alarm went off and he had to get up.

Sam was already bidding him goodbye when Dean came downstairs, and Dean hurried to Bobby’s, not in the mood for breakfast, the flashes of the nightmare still fresh in his mind.

“Hey Bobby,” he yelled when he stepped into a large room, but was abruptly stopped by the sight of a red-haired girl.

She turned around and flashed him a smile. “Hi!” she greeted cheerfully.

“Who are you?” Dean blurted.

“I’m Charlie,” she said, still smiling. It was a soft and kind smile. Honest, too. “You must be Dean.” She offered her hand to him to shake.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “What are you doing here?”

Charlie raised her eyebrow, but didn’t lower her hand. “I’m working here.”

“Since when?”

“Since yesterday afternoon,” Bobby grunted, appearing behind Dean. “I need some help with the inventory and those damn internet machines, and this young lady knows all about it and more.” He disappeared once again, this time behind the door that leaded to the office.

Charlie chuckled at that. “Good morning, Mr. Singer.”

“Oh, sorry,” Dean grunted. “Didn’t know we’re hiring, that’s all.” He coughed, and reached his hand. “’Bout damn time he did something about that pile of papers. I swear some of those are older than me.” He tried to smile at her. He was being an ass, and he knew it.

She smiled again and took his hand. Dean shivered when he felt it was cold. Not-alive cold, by that.

_Pale skin. Blank eyes. Black goo dripping down the chin._

He quickly pulled back. “Sorry, I didn’t know you’re a…” He trailed off.

“You didn’t know I’m dead?” She raised her eyebrow again, but her voice was calm. “Well, I put so much crap on my face every morning, I’m glad it actually works.”

Dean chuckled nervously. “I don’t mind,” he blurted. “It’s just that I’m… Uhhh…”

She smiled at him. “It’s okay, Dean.” She tapped his shoulder, and turned on her heel. “We better get to work, though. I don’t want Bobby testing the theory that you can’t choke a PDS.” She marched straight to his office, and Dean had to smile.

He shook the remains of the dream off, and turned to the red car already parked in its place.

***

“Come to the library with me,” Castiel’s father said for the third time that morning. He was sitting in the kitchen and chewing a piece of bread. Castiel sat beside him, looking at his own hands.

Castiel pretended he didn’t hear him the first two times, but there was no point in that anymore. He sighed. “Why?”

“Because,” his father answered. “It will be good for you, to go out, meet people. Your doctor said-,”

“I know what she said, dad,” Castiel exhaled.

“Come on, son,” his father said gently. “You can’t hide in your room for the rest of your-,” He stopped himself.

Castiel raised his head and gave him a little smile. “They’ll have to come up with some new idioms, huh?”

Father chuckled at that. “I guess they will.” He watched him carefully for a moment, dark eyes roaming over blue lenses. “Please, son. I just don’t like seeing you miserable.”

“I’m not miserable, dad,” Castiel whispered, rubbing his eyes. He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Fine. I’ll go with you today. But don’t expect me to be thrilled. Or talking to anyone.”

His father smiled. “You can sulk in the back, if you want.”

Castiel nodded. “Okay then.”

The town’s library wasn’t exactly huge, but it was nice. His father had been working there for 25 years, and Castiel had spent most of his time there. It was like a second home to him; he knew every creaking board in the floor, and the place of every book. He used to go there every day after school. He had learned to read there, and he had continued reading there, sometimes helping his father put books back, or with the inventory.

Castiel liked his father’s library. He just didn’t like other people seeing him there now.

The first couple of hours went peacefully, though. Castiel sneaked back as soon as they got there, but no one showed up for hours so he soon joined his father behind his desk.

“Do I still have a library card?” Castiel asked.

His father chuckled. “I actually made you a new one recently.” He picked it up from the bunch of papers in front of him. “You want to find something for yourself?”

Castiel smiled softly. “I think I do, dad.”

They heard the steps, and Castiel looked up to find a lady entering the library. He slid of the chair and tried to escape back, but before he made any more steps, he heard her say hello.

“Is that your boy?” she asked loudly, and Castiel stopped in his tracks.

“Yes, it’s Castiel,” his father said, his voice soft and fond.

“I didn’t know you came back, too,” the lady said, putting her hands on her hips and coming closer. “Let me look at you boy.”

Castiel sighed, but made a few steps towards her. “Hello, Ms. Moseley.”

Her dark eyes scanned him, a smile trembling on her lips. “Handsome as ever. When did you come back boy?”

Castiel tried to smile back. “Just a few days ago.”

She suddenly pulled him in for a hug. “It’s good to have you back, son,” she told him warmly, before letting him go. “I missed you, too, you know? It was awfully silent here without you.”

She patted his cheek, and disappeared behind the closest bookshelf.

Castiel caught his father smiling at him. He dropped his eyes to the floor and grabbed the nearest book.

***

“I made him wash his hands,” Bobby said in what was probably his equivalent of proud voice.

Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s only because they were too dirty to eat with them. Don’t get used to it.”

Bobby grunted something under his breath, and Dean laughed, but Jo only put their burgers in front of them, staying silent.

“What is it, Jo?” Dean asked her, frowning.

She stood silent for one more moment, biting her lower lip, her hands on her hips. “Don’t freak out, okay?”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “What is it?” he repeated. Bobby put his burger back down, watching them both.

“Cas is back,” Jo said, her face serious and careful.

Dean blinked. “What?”

“I heard Castiel is back,” she repeated, watching him.

Dean felt something squeezing his lungs. “That’s impossible.”

“Missouri told us,” Jo replied, throwing a look at Bobby, who was still sitting completely still, watching her. “She saw him at the library yesterday.”

Dean shook his head. “That’s crazy. _She’s_ crazy.”

Jo weakly shrugged with her shoulders. “I don’t know, Dean. I’m just telling you what I know.” She lingered for one more moment, and then she was gone. “Enjoy your meal,” she threw as she went.

Bobby reached for his burger again, and bit it in silence, watching Dean from the corner of his eye.

“That can’t be,” Dean muttered, frowning at his burger.

Bobby raised his eyebrows.

“I would’ve known,” Dean muttered again, raising his head to look at him. “He lives- He lived across the street.”

“If he just came home…” Bobby shrugged. “All I’m saying is, it’s not impossible, Dean,” he added after one more awkward moment.

Dean pushed his burger away, and sank deeper into his chair, pulling a hand over his face. “I’m not hungry,” he commented. “You mind if I take off earlier today?”

Bobby grunted. “There’s not much to do anyway.”

Dean nodded, and silently watched as Bobby kept chewing his burger. The old mechanic didn’t have the feeling Dean exactly saw him.

***

“Well, I’ll be damned.” A female voice shook Castiel from his thoughts.

He was sitting at his father’s desk, flipping through some random book he had just found. He raised his head and shook when he saw a white, undead eyes and pale skin that seemed even whiter because of the black hair.

“Castiel,” the girl said, stressing every syllable of his name. “Undead and doing an equivalent of breathing.” She tilted her head a bit to the side. “You remember me?”

“Meg Masters,” he said, and tried to smile at her. “Who could forget you?”

She laughed, throwing her head back. “A flatterer, as always.” But her eyes were piercing through him, making him feel uneasy.

“You’re, umm…” he started, not knowing what to say.

“I’m a PDS too, yeah,” Meg said, her smile not once faltering.

“And you’re not wearing your…” Castiel trailed off. Meg’s expression was so similar to what he was seeing in his mirror every morning, and it made his stomach turn unpleasantly.

Meg raised an eyebrow. “That make-up crap they gave us? No.” She shrugged. “It’s shitty, you know? I had better make-up when I was alive. I might use mine, but…” She made a vague hand gesture and leaned forward. “Listen, I gotta go now. But I don’t know many PDS’s around here, especially not anyone I knew before. You care to grab a coffee one of these days?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes, sure.” He didn’t know Meg that well. She had asked him for prom when they had been in high school. Three times, actually. He turned her down every time. But they had been a weird sort of friends, and she was right; he didn’t know any PDS’s either. He certainly didn’t know she had died too. “When?”

“I’m not sure,” Meg shrugged. “I work at the market now.” She rolled her eyes. “You can come over sometimes if you want to. I’ll take a break or something, it’s not like there’s so much to do.”

“Sure.” Castiel nodded. “I’ll drop by.”

“Great,” she said, smiling at him. “See ya there, Clarence.” She winked at him, and was gone.

***

The street was silent, even though the day was still bright. The sun wouldn’t set for hours, and Dean planned on waiting the whole night if it was necessary. Sam wasn’t home yet, wouldn’t be for an hour or so. Dean had plenty of time.

He just needed to check. He just needed to see the old librarian enter his empty house that had stood like that for years. Dean remembered the time he had hang out at that house a lot. Even during the Rising, he had been dropping by often enough to make sure everything had been alright. The old man had always welcomed him.

Dean remembered how, one evening, not long after the cure had been found and everything had started falling back into place, his neighbor had come knocking on their door rather loudly.

“Dean!” he had breathed out as soon as they had opened the door. “His grave… His grave is open.”

Dean had blinked in confusion.

“I-I didn’t know that,” the old man had stuttered. “Do you realize what that means? It means-,”

“It means nothing,” Dean had cut him off. He couldn’t have dealt with it. He couldn’t have given them any kind of hope, not when there had been so many things to do after everything had finished, not when they hadn’t been safe yet.

And he had seen hope in the old librarian’s eyes, had seen its flame burn down once Dean had spoken again. “Sir, that happened months ago. Even if it’s true, even if his grave is open… A lot of things could’ve happened. He might have got hurt.”

They had never said his name, not once. Dean supposed it would have hurt too much.

That evening, the old man had just nodded. “I know, Dean, and it’s okay if you don’t, but… I have to hope, you know? That’s everything that’s left for me, anyway.”

Dean hadn’t said anything. He had understood. Hell, he had wanted to hope as well, he just couldn’t have afforded it.

The next few months had been a blur, everyone rushing to bring the world back to normal. The old librarian had got his work back, and Dean had got himself a place at Bobby’s, and they had slowly lost contact. It had all come down to polite hellos and short meaningless conversations, unless something was needed.

Dean and Sam hadn’t even known when their neighbor had a heart attack few months after the Rising had ended. He had been alright, though. They had visited him, and helped him those days, but the old man was strong and got back to his feet in no time.

Dean guessed life had just happened to them, and they had grown apart. So he couldn’t exactly blame the man if he hadn’t told him his son was back.

He still didn’t believe it, though. Castiel would let him know. He _would_. They had been friends for years before it all had happened. Castiel’s death had hit Dean more than he was willing to admit, but Dean had never got the time to mourn, because all hell had broken loose right then, and there had been no time for sadness, or any other emotions for that matter, except the pure will to survive.

But there was Dean now, sitting in his car, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, and waiting. He knew Castiel couldn’t be back. He just needed to make sure.

Dean didn’t want to turn on the radio, fearing he would miss something, and the silence of the car was slowly pressing on his ears. Time was ticking away so slowly, Dean had to look at his watch couple of times just to check it was working.

He didn’t have to wait that long, though. After an hour or so, he saw an old red car coming down their street. He recognized the car even before it turned on his neighbor’s driveway.

Dean took a deep breath.

The driver’s door of the car opened, and the familiar dark-haired man stepped out. He laughed at something, and then, slowly, the door on the passenger’s side opened too.

Dean felt his heart skipped a beat. He blinked once, twice, gripping the steering wheel so hard it almost hurt.

Castiel came out of the car, his dark hair ruffled, his shirt messy, and jeans ripped. He was smiling at his father, pulling a pile of books out of the car before closing its door. He circled the car and dropped the books in his father’s hands.

Dean could practically hear his blood rushing, and he almost waited to reveal some kind of trick, perhaps played by his own eyes. He wasn’t exactly aware that he moved, but suddenly his legs were carrying him out of the car, straight to the house across the street.

“Cas?” he called, and his voice sounded surprisingly calm even to his own ears.

Both men standing near the car turned to look at him. There was a smile on the old librarian’s face, but Dean only saw the surprised look on his best friend. His _dead_ best friend. Jesus, _fuck_.

Castiel’s face softened as Dean came closer. “Hello, Dean,” he said almost gently, a small smile threatening to break on his face.

_His eyes were still blue._

A quiet whimper escaped Dean’s lips, his jaw trembling. He pulled his hand over his face. “Holy shit,” he muttered into his palm, afraid to come any closer than where he was.

The old librarian patted his shoulder, and Dean jumped, not even realizing that he was there. There was something gentle on his face when he said “Good to see you, Dean,” and turned on his heel to leave.

Castiel looked down, and came closer, standing in front of him. They heard the door of the house close, and they were left alone on the street.

Castiel’s fingers were playing with the sleeves of his shirt, his head still bowed, and Dean couldn’t turn his eyes away from him. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that _Castiel was back_. He was there, maybe breathing, maybe not, but in one piece, and Dean couldn’t… He couldn’t keep his heart still, couldn’t keep his palms from sweating.

“You’re back,” he blurted, dumbly.

Castiel raised his head to look at him. “Yes, I’m back.” He tried to smile, but his face slowly fell again.

“Since when?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know.” Castiel shrugged. “A few days ago, I guess.”

“Holy shit,” Dean muttered again. “You, umm-,” He gestured to him with one hand, unsure of what to say. “You look good. You look the same, actually.”

There was still something sad in Castiel’s eyes. “Thank you, Dean. You look… older.”

Dean felt laugh suddenly bubbling out of his mouth; it sounded nervous. “Well, you were always good at giving compliments.” He scratched the back of his neck.

Castiel’s eyes grew wide. “No, I didn’t-,” He closed his eyes and sighed. “That was supposed to be a compliment.”

Dean chuckled again. “Well, thanks then, Cas.”

Castiel tried to smile again, and this time, the smile stuck. Dean was smiling back at him, and they just stood there for a moment, not entirely uncomfortable.

“I, umm…” Dean started, clearing his throat. “I’m making burgers for dinner tonight. Do you, umm… Would you maybe like to join us? It’s just Sam and me.”

Castiel made a guilty face. “I don’t… I don’t eat, Dean,” he muttered.

Dean’s lips formed a small O in surprise. Castiel was still dead, no matter just how alive he looked like, his make-up carefully in place. Certainly there were some… stuff Dean needed to know.

“I would like to come, though,” Castiel hurried to say. “If I’m- If you want me to, that is.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean replied quickly, nodding his head. He smiled gently again. “I’d like you to come. I’m sure Sam will be ecstatic.”

Castiel smiled, too. “Okay then.”

“Okay.” Dean nodded, and started walking backwards. “I’ll see you in a few, then.”

Castiel nodded back, still smiling. But Dean couldn’t help but feel nervousness washing over both of them.

***

Dean could hear Sam enter the house before he saw him.

“Sorry I’m late,” his brother yelled from the hallway. “We have this big project going, and I stayed at the library with Brady and-,” He stopped in his tracks as he entered the kitchen.

Dean was standing beside the stove on which the burgers were slowly grilling, which wasn’t unusual at all. It was something on Dean’s face that made Sam pause; something nervous, like something was itching under his skin.

“Dean?” Sam called him.

It seemed that only then his brother noticed him. “Hi, Sam,” he greeted him quietly.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, putting his bag on one of the chairs.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Dean replied. He flipped one burger. “Cas is back.”

Sam stared at him, dumbfounded. “Sorry, what?”

Dean scratched the back of his neck. “Cas is back. He’s coming over for dinner.”

Sam blinked, his expression still confused, and he sat down. “Wow. How? I mean, since when?” He shook his head. “And PDS sufferers don’t eat.”

Dean nodded. “I know, he’s just coming over.” He shrugged. “Since a few days ago, he says.”

Sam huffed. “How come he didn’t come over then?”

“I don’t know, Sam,” Dean said, flipping one more burger rather violently. “Jo told me today, and I didn’t believe her, but then I saw him.” He scratched his chin, a day old stubble poking his fingertips. “I talked to him a bit, invited him to come over tonight. He said he’s coming.”

The burgers sizzled on the stove, and Dean slowly put them out on a plate.

“I think that’s great,” Sam commented in the exact moment their doorbell rang. He immediately jumped to his feet. “I’ll get it.”

But Dean still followed him, stepping into the hallway just as Sam pulled the door open.

“Cas!” he almost yelled, his voice still surprised, like he didn’t believe a word Dean had just said.

“Hi, Sam,” Castiel said gently, looking up at him, really looking up at him, because Sam was now towering above him.

Sam didn’t hesitate a moment before he pulled Castiel in for a hug. Castiel let out a small ‘oomph’ before he raised his hands to put them on Sam’s shoulder blades.

Dean couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s so good to see you, Cas,” Sam said, and a smile could be heard in his voice.

Castiel managed to chuckle. “It’s good to see you, too, Sam.” His eyes landed on Dean as Sam let him out of his bear hug. “Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said quietly, still smiling. “Dinner’s ready,” he added, not sure what to say.

“Hey, is that okay with you, though?” Sam interrupted. “I know you don’t eat, so if that’s uncomfortable for you…”

“No, it’s fine, Sam.” Castiel shook his head. “I eat with my dad all the time. Well…” He made a face. “I don’t really eat, but…” He shrugged.

“Okay, c’mon then.” Dean waved his arm to invite him to kitchen. “We don’t want it to get cold.”

Castiel smiled at them, and followed them. He sat next to Dean, across from Sam, and just quietly watched as the boys started filling their plates.

“So, how long since you’ve been back?” Sam asked, putting a generous amount of French fries on his plate.

“You mean, home?” Castiel asked. “I’ve been here for just a few days. If you mean, how long I’m…” He trailed off, feeling Sam’s curious expression. “I don’t know exactly,” he admitted. “I would say couple of months. It doesn’t…” He shrugged. “I didn’t really have the sense of time back at the clinic.”

Sam nodded his head, and Dean turned his attention to his plate.

“Do you remember anything from there?”

“Sam,” Dean warned, not looking up.

“What?” Sam retorted, frowning.

“I remember a lot, actually,” Castiel answered, his eyes flicking from one Winchester to another. “But it was mostly boring. Just group therapies and stuff. Helping us to adapt back to society.”

Sam nodded again. “Were you far away from here?”

“Not really.” Castiel put his hands on the table, his fingers absently pulling at the long sleeves of his sweater. “Just two towns over.”

“Your dad picked you up?” This time, it was Dean who asked the question.

Castiel nodded. “Yes. They let him know about it three weeks earlier.”

“How come he didn’t tell us anything?” Dean continued chewing, looking up at Castiel again.

Castiel watched him for a moment. “I don’t know,” he answered. “Maybe he wanted it to be a surprise.” There was a hint of sarcasm, and something bitter in his voice.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Well, he succeeded, that’s for sure.”

“Did you make some friends?” Sam asked quickly.

“Not really,” Castiel answered. He exhaled slowly. “There’s not much to talk about, really. It was a clinic. It was white and pretty clean, and boring.” He shrugged again. “What’s new with you guys? How’s school, Sam?” He leaned forward a bit.

Sam chewed before he answered. “School’s fine. I just want to move on, that’s all.” He made a vague gesture with his hand. “I already sent applications to Stanford, and a few other colleges. I’m gonna study law.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, raising his eyebrows. “Well, that’s great.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I think there will be a lot of work to do, after the whole, y’know…”

“Because of PDS sufferers, you mean?” Castiel said, and saw Sam pull away. He smiled at him. “You can say it, Sam, you know? You don’t have to… You don’t have to hide around me. I don’t have problems with it, not anymore.”

Dean watched him as he spoke, and he could hear in his voice that he was lying. He didn’t say anything though.

“Okay.” Sam nodded. “Well, yeah, that’s what I was trying to say. A lot of laws will have to be adapted. So, I’m looking forward to that.” He grinned.

Castiel smiled back. He then looked at Dean, waiting for him to say something.

Dean shrugged. “I work at Bobby’s. Remember him?”

“Of course.” Castiel nodded. “Bobby Singer. You used to hang out there all the time anyway.”

Dean smirked. “Yeah, I did. Well, I work there for real now. And that’s about it, really.” He looked over at Sam, who just shrugged. “Not much has changed, Cas.”

Castiel looked at the table and smiled. “I kind of like that,” he muttered.

Sam finished his meal and pushed his plate away, standing up. “Well, it was great to see you, Cas, but I really have to go. I have this big project for science class that has to be over in two days, and my partner is an idiot.” He rolled his eyes. “I hope you come over again soon.”

“I’ll see to it,” Castiel offered.

Sam grinned at him and then hurried out of the kitchen.

“He is so tall,” Castiel said quietly, looking after him.

Dean laughed. “I know, right?” He shook his head, and pushed his plate away too. “I swear to god, I was afraid he’d never stop growing and I’d have to remove the roof or something.”

Castiel chuckled. “I remember looking down at him, seeing the top of his head. I almost ran away when he opened the door.”

Dean snorted. “He’s still just a giant baby, though.” He stood up and started collecting the dishes.

“Oh, let me help you with that,” Castiel said, standing up too.

“You don’t have to-,” Dean started, but Castiel was already taking the plates from his hands.

“I was rude enough to decline your dinner,” Castiel said, smiling at him. “I could at least be helpful.”

Dean couldn’t help but smile back and let him have his way. He collected the rest of the dishes though, and brought them to sink.

“You’re gonna get your sweater wet,” he commented, noticing Castiel didn’t roll his sleeves up.

“It’s no big deal.” Castiel waved his hand.

“Here,” Dean said, pushing a dishtowel into his hands. “I’ll wash, you dry.”

Castiel wordlessly agreed, stepping aside to give Dean some space. They worked in comfortable silence for a few moments.

“Where is your father, though?” Castiel asked.

Dean swallowed. “He died in the Rising.”

“Oh,” Castiel breathed. “I didn’t know that, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Dean replied, making a face. “I know it’s a shitty thing to say, but honestly it’s more peaceful this way.” He handed Castiel another plate. “He went out fighting, like he wanted. We gave him a decent funeral once everything was done, and that’s it. We always managed mostly on our own, so nothing really changed.”

Castiel looked away. “I’m still sorry to hear that.”

Dean just nodded, his face flat, and focused on the dirty dishes in his hands.

They continued working in silence until everything was washed and dried.

“Hey,” Dean said, nudging him with his elbow. “You alright?”

Castiel raised his head to meet Dean’s worried expression. “Yes, I’m fine. Are you?”

Dean nodded, smiling at him. “I’m good, Cas. I really am.”

“I know it must be hard,” Castiel said, crumpling the sleeves of his shirt between his fingers. “Especially after everything you went through. Dad told me you were in HVF too.” He looked up at him. “It’s okay if you don’t want to-,”

“Cut it out,” Dean interrupted, waving his hand. “You’re my friend, Cas, that didn’t change.” Dean caught his gaze and held it. “It’s good to have you back, Cas. I’m just… I’m still surprised, that’s all.”

Castiel smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He didn’t believe him, Dean understood that. So instead of trying to say anything, Dean reached for him and pulled him in for a hug. He was never good with words anyway.

Castiel stood still for a moment, but then he relaxed in Dean’s arms, and wrapped his own around Dean’s shoulders. “It’s good to be back, too, I think,” he admitted quietly.

As Dean held him, he thought that maybe it would be alright again. He felt the tension leaving them both. He realized he really meant everything he said; it was really good to have his friend back.

 

Dean smiled as he let go of him. “You missed a lot, though. You should catch up.”

“Yeah?” Castiel raised his eyebrows. “What did I miss?”

“Well, for starters.” Dean scratched his head. “Benny got married.”

“Really?” Castiel commented. “I didn’t know he even had a girlfriend.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, leaning on the edge of the sink with his hip. “And his wife’s pregnant too.”

Castiel smiled. “That’s great news. What else?”

“Huh,” Dean scratched his chin. “New Marvel’s movie came out?”

Castiel’s eyes widened. “No way.”

Dean laughed. “You wanna stay and watch it? I think we even have popcorn?”

Castiel’s eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. But then he shrugged. “Yes, sure. If you don’t have anything better to do.”

“Dude.” Dean threw him a look as he pulled him to the living room. “What’s better and more important than Marvel?”

Castiel chuckled as he followed him. He had no choice but to agree.

***

The nights were the worst. They had always been. At night, Castiel had nothing to keep himself busy with, nothing to keep his mind occupied, and that was when problems usually started to show up.

That was when Castiel would start thinking about his green-eyed neighbor, his pretty smile, and big hands.

That was when Castiel would start feeling coldness seeping into his bones, coldness that had nothing to do with the temperature of his room, but rather with the silence of dark summer nights. He could feel tears straining at the back of his throat, and he found it was too hard to breathe, like something was sitting on his chest. It was stupid, he knew that. He didn’t even need to exactly breathe anymore.

He put his hands on his chest, but he felt nothing. Complete silence was buzzing in his ears, and it left him feeling more anxious than ever before.

Depression had been good, he thought as he forced himself to get to his feet. Depression had made him feel numb, like he would never again in his life feel happiness or sadness. Depression had just sometimes made it painfully obvious just how alone he was. Ironically, it had been easy.

And anxiety, it had a way to get under his bones. It had a way to plant panic in his brain, and Castiel hated that.

He walked into the bathroom and threw a towel over the mirror, not looking at it at all. He squeezed the edge of the sink until his fingers turned white, whiter than their usual dead paleness. He tried to calm his breathing.

He hated this, he hated this, he _hated_ this.

He didn’t want this. He hadn’t wanted to come back. He hadn’t wanted to crawl back. There had been a reason why he pulled his father’s razor over his wrists.

He looked at them. He looked at the clumsy seams on his wrists that were trying to stitch his dead flesh together at the places where metal had ran so deep. He didn’t remember the pain, he didn’t remember it had actually hurt, but now he could almost feel it.

He had never wanted to hurt anyone. And he hadn’t wanted to see that expression on Dean’s face when he had looked at him. It had been an expression that gave away hope, and sadness, and fear, and hurt. Castiel didn’t want to feel hope, either.

It was painful, it was risky to feel it. And he felt it every time he looked at his father. He felt it just as much while he had been standing next to Dean.

They could never go back to how it had been. It could never happen, and Castiel was a fool to hope for it.

Castiel shut his eyes. _He didn’t want to want that_.

He splashed the cold water over his face, and hoped it would hide his pain. He didn’t have the courage to check that in the mirror.

His hands stopped shaking, his eyes still closed, and he let go of the sink. His breath was finally slowing down, even though his mind was still roaring with doubts.

His eyes snapped open as he heard the sound of something crashing, coming from his father’s room.

 


	3. Part 2: He Is Not Allowed

This time, Dean knew it was a dream. He knew because the rain was falling, and he was in the old farmer’s house down the road. He had been there exactly three times, and every time sun hadn’t had mercy on them.

That was the thing; people would expect that those dark days right after the Rising had been filled with grey skies and coldness sipping through their bones, but it hadn’t been like that. The days had been long, and sunny, and hot, like every other day ever, and if you had looked outside for a minute or two, it would’ve seemed like any other summer day. That was, until you would’ve gone outside and heard the screams.

So that was how Dean knew he was dreaming. The rain was falling and he was alone. He could hear the old boards creaking, and he saw dust falling from the ceiling. It was peaceful. He hated that part of the dream, because he knew now something would crawl towards him, or jump at him, and he would wake up covered in sweat.

“Dean!” he heard a familiar voice calling him. “Over here, Dean.”

Of course he followed the voice, he was no wiser in his dreams than he was in reality.

“Come on, Dean, hurry!”

He pushed past the door in front of him, and suddenly he found himself in a big room. It was still dark, but the rays of sun were pushing through the cracks in the wooden walls, illuminating the room. And there, right in front of him, stood Castiel, smiling at him.

“Cas?” Dean called, not sure it was really him. _This is a dream, Dean, calm down_ , he kept repeating to himself.

“Come,” Castiel was still smiling, motioning for him to come closer.

“What is it?” Dean asked, slowly coming closer, but lowering the Colt in his hand.

Castiel was still smiling when he began shaking.

“Cas?” Dean called him again, but even he could hear panic in his own voice. He watched as Castiel’s skin turned grey, and when he looked up at him, his eyes weren’t blue anymore. Black goo was dripping from his lips, his face now emotionless.

“No, Cas, please…” Dean squeezed the gun in his hand, but couldn’t bring himself to raise it. Castiel made few unsteady steps towards him.

“CAS!” he yelled just in the moment Castiel jumped at his neck.

He sat in his bed abruptly, cold sweat sliding down his neck. He could hear his own heartbeat ringing in his ears, his breathing heavy. The clock beside his bed showed it was barely 1 a.m.

A new wave of panic went through him as he realized that it was not only a violent scene that had woken him up from his nightmare. He heard loud sirens of ambulance coming closer, its lights piercing in Dean’s room, until its breaks squealed in front of Castiel’s house.

Dean jumped out of his bed before he could think about some logical explanation for ambulance, and hurried out.

When he came to Castiel’s house two men were already pushing out a stretcher with a dark-haired man on it. Dean felt his heart sink, but before he could panic any more he saw Castiel following them. The first thing Dean registered is that he was walking, and for an instance he felt relieved, until he noticed the paleness of Castiel’s skin, and whiteness of his eyes.

A loud string of _NONONO_ started ringing in Dean’s mind, slowing his steps, his heart still beating loudly in his chest from the nightmare, and now it was in front of him, and Dean’s hands began shaking, and-

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice came suddenly, just as panicked as Dean felt, but there was also a note of something too similar to relief.

This was Cas, _his_ Cas, his best friend, and no matter what he looked like, he _saw_ Dean, and he _knew_ Dean, and he was alright.

Dean’s heart was still pounding in his ears, but he willed himself to calm his hands as he came closer to Castiel. The men were already pushing the stretcher into the ambulance, and Dean finally realized it was Castiel’s father who was lying on it.

“What happened?” Dean asked, still a bit breathless.

“I don’t know,” Castiel’s voice was shaking. His eyes were once again glued to the stretcher. “I just found him lying on the floor, I don’t know-,” He stopped, and hurried to climb into the ambulance as one of the paramedics started closing the door. Castiel threw Dean a panicked look.

“I’ll follow you, okay?” Dean said without much thinking. “I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

Castiel nodded, and then the door closed, and the ambulance drove away, its sirens echoing through the whole empty street, and gradually mixing with the street lights.

Dean noticed that the front door of Castiel’s house was still opened, so he hurried to close it, and then ran towards his house. He then noticed Sam standing in front of it, in his too small pajamas, and rubbing his eyes sleepily.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice still rough from sleep.

“It’s Cas’s dad,” Dean said, pushing Sam inside.

Sam stumbled sleepily. “What with him?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said, grabbing his car keys. “Looks like he had another attack. I told Cas I’ll come after him.” He then grabbed his shoes, hurriedly pulling them on. “And you go back to bed.”

Sam shook his head. “I wanna go too.”

“No,” Dean said firmly. “You have school in the morning, and there isn’t anything you can do anyway. I’m just going there for Cas.”

Sam was giving him the look that meant he was about to throw a fit, but Dean cut him off before he even started: “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything, okay?”

Sam was watching him for a moment, and Dean knew he was really worried. But he finally nodded his head.

“Go to bed now,” Dean yelled as he closed the door.

***

Dean became aware that he was still wearing his pajamas only when he entered the bright hallway of the hospital. Not that he particularly cared - his pajamas were an old sweat suit and some old grey t-shirt anyway – but he could feel curious eyes on him. It only added to his list of reasons why he hated hospitals.

He found Castiel fast enough, in the sickly white, mostly empty hallway, pacing up and down. His white skin became even more obvious in the artificial light. Dean noticed he was dressed in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt too, and he realized that, ironically, right now Cas was dressed the most comfortably since he came back.

“Hey,” Dean called him quietly as he approached him.

Castiel raised his head to look at him, and his shoulders relaxed. “Hello Dean,” he said, folding his arms in front of him. He sounded tired, and scared, and Dean wanted nothing more but to pull him into a hug.

He gingerly reached out for him, but only put a hand on his shoulder. “How are you?”

Castiel shrugged. “I’m okay, as much as I can be. They aren’t telling me anything, though.”

“You only just got here, Cas, they’re probably just running tests,” Dean said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice.

Castiel nodded absently, and reached his hand to rub at his temples. That’s when Dean noticed it.

He reached for Castiel’s arm, and gently took his wrist. “Is that…” he started but Castiel let him pull his arm closer.

Deep, straight cuts were running down Castiel’s forearms, their edges sewn back together with some kind of black thread, something that didn’t look too comfortable.

“They don’t really heal,” Castiel almost whispered, and Dean raised his head to look at him. “They stitched them back, but our bodies can’t heal anymore.” He tried for a small smile, but it disappeared as soon as it showed. He didn’t look Dean in the eyes. “This is as good as it gets, I guess. Not even scars, just… holes. But I’ve seen worse, back at the Center. I can at least hide mine.”

Dean lowered his eyes again, gently running a thumb across the sewed skin. “Does it hurt?”

Castiel shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I don’t exactly feel those parts anymore. I mean, I do feel you touching it now, but it doesn’t… It doesn’t hurt, it isn’t comfortable, I just…” He shrugged. “It’s hard to explain, I guess.”

“Is that why you’re always wearing long sleeves?” Dean blurted before he could stop himself.

Castiel looked at him. “Yes, actually, that’s true.”

Dean opened his mouth to say something more, but they were interrupted when some male doctor called Castiel’s name. Castiel turned immediately, pulling his wrists out of Dean’s hands.

“Yes, that’s me,” he said loud enough for the doctor to hear it.

The tall man smiled at them and came closer. “Your father’s stable now.”

Castiel breathed a sigh of relief and hugged himself. “Do you know what happened?”

The doctor nodded. “Yes. Your father had a heart attack. It wasn’t too bad, and he is alright. He is asleep now, and we would like to leave him here for a while, run some tests.”

Castiel nodded his head, his whole body finally relaxing a bit. “Can I go see him now?”

The doctor paused before he answered: “I’m sorry, but no.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “But I’m his son, shouldn’t I be able to-,”

“Yes, I understand that,” the doctor said even before Castiel even finished his sentence. “But we don’t know what triggered the attack, and I’m sorry, but we can’t let you in like that.”

Dean blinked. Beside him he could feel Castiel tensed again.

“Are you saying that I cannot see my father because I’m a PDS?” Castiel said slowly, his voice edgy.

The doctor looked uncomfortable now. “It’s not that you’re a PDS sufferer, Mister. It’s that you should be… fully… prepared… before you can see him.”

Dean felt anger boiling in his guts. He looked at Castiel and on his face he saw anger and sadness, but above all, hopelessness.

“You mean, I have to have my make-up on,” Castiel said, and he sounded tired.

Dean had to say something. “Come on, Doc,” he started, stepping forward. “It’s the middle of the night, he was sleeping, of course he doesn’t have the full make-up. Can’t you let him in just for a minute? I mean, it’s not like his dad got a heart attack from seeing him.”

“We can’t be sure,” the doctor said coldly.

Dean felt his jaw tensing, and his hands trembling. Beside him, Castiel looked down, pulling his arms closer around his body.

“You can come back tomorrow, after you take your treatment and do all the necessary things. That’s final. Now, excuse me,” the doctor continued in his colorless voice, and rushed past them.

“What an asshole,” Dean muttered.

Castiel shook his head. “Maybe he’s right, Dean.”

“Like hell he is!” Dean raised his voice.

“Please, Dean…” Castiel reached out for him, but didn’t touch him. He let his hand fall down instead. “Could you just take me home, please?”

Dean watched him for a moment, his sad face and hurt wrists that never healed, and thought how it wasn’t fair that people who are so gentle have to deal with the world that is so cruel.

“Okay,” Dean said quietly, nodding. “You want to, umm… You want to spend the night at ours?”

Castiel still wouldn’t look at him. But he nodded after a moment: “Yeah, okay. Thank you, Dean.”

“No problem,” Dean muttered. “I’ll drive you here first thing in the morning, okay?”

That caused Castiel to give him a weak smile, but his eyes were still trained on the hem of his t-shirt. “Thank you.”

“C’mon now,” Dean said, gently taking his upper arm and leading him towards the exit. “Let’s get out of here before I punch that doctor in his big stupid mouth.”

***

The drive home was expectedly silent and awkward. Castiel kept staring at his shoes, and Dean didn’t know what to say to try and make it better.

“I need to get my medicine first,” Castiel muttered as they turned onto the Winchester’s driveway.

Dean nodded and silently followed him outside, and all the way to his house. He kept checking the street like something might jump them both, but it stayed hauntingly empty and silent.

Castiel hurried inside, heading straight for the bathroom, and Dean followed. He watched as Castiel pulled the medicine out of the cabinet, moving slowly, but Dean just lingered in front of the door, heavy, unpleasant feeling grounded deep in his guts.

He watched as Castiel stood above the sink, struggling with the syringe in his hands, and trying to pull his t-shirt low enough.

“You want some help?” Dean asked, unsecure.

For a moment, Castiel eyes met his in the mirror. “Would you mind?” he asked in a quiet voice.

Dean shook his head no. “But you have to tell me what to do, I don’t know…” he said, stepping into the bathroom, towards him.

Castiel moved only to give him the syringe over his shoulder. “Pull my shirt down, you’ll see a hole in my spine. You can’t exactly miss it.” He tried for a smile, but failed.

Dean nodded, taking a hold of the syringe, and doing as he was told. “Okay, what now?”

“You just put the pointy side into it, and pull that trigger thing.” Castiel voice was calm.

Dean shivered, but still slowly brought the syringe to the hole. “Okay,” he muttered, trying to calm his hand. He felt a slight pull as he pulled the trigger, and Castiel hissed.

“Sorry,” he said, moving the syringe away from him.

But Castiel just waved his hand. “It’s fine, it happens.” But he was still holding onto the edge of the sink, so Dean didn’t move either.

Castiel slowly raised his head, and looked at his reflection. “What if he’s right, Dean?” he muttered.

“He’s not,” Dean replied immediately. “He’s just some narrow-minded asshole who’s pissed that he has to work the night shift.”

Castiel caught his eyes in the mirror again, trying again for a smile, but looked back at his hands only a moment later. “I know what I look like, Dean. Sometimes, I can’t look at myself. I can only imagine how it must be for you then.”

“Cas…” Dean let out, reaching out to touch him, but ended up just hovering over his spine right where the deep hole was.

“It doesn’t mean it’s fair, though,” Castiel whispered, and Dean didn’t know if PDS sufferers couldn’t cry or if Castiel was just so good at hiding it.

***

Dean kept his promise, and drove Castiel back to the hospital as soon as they got up.

Castiel had spent the night trying to sleep in Dean’s bed. He could’ve heard Sam snoring in the room next to his, and Dean pacing up and down the whole house, until he settled down for the living room’s couch. Castiel doubted he had got any more sleep.

Castiel put the mousse on extra carefully that morning, and packed up some things for his father. They arrived early, Castiel marching straight to the first nurse he saw, Dean at his heels. The nurse was a young dark-haired woman who smiled at them kindly and brought them straight to room of Castiel’s father.

“Dad,” Castiel muttered, relief washing over him as he realized his father was awake.

“Hey, son,” he said quietly, smile breaking on his face. “You came to rescue me from here?” He then noticed Dean standing in the doorway, and smiled at him too. “Hi, Dean.”

“Hi,” Dean said awkwardly.

Castiel came straight to his father and hugged him as strong as he could. “I’m sorry, but no, you have to stay here for some more time. That’s the punishment for scaring me back to death.”

His father chuckled, releasing him from his grip. “Tell me that you at least brought me my toothbrush.”

A small panic flickered at Castiel’s face when he realized he wasn’t anymore carrying the bag he packed.

“It’s here,” Dean smiled, coming closer to the bed, and raising the bag in question. “You almost left it in the car.”

Castiel gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Dean,” he said as he took it from him. He put it on the small nightstand next to the bed. “Here, dad, I brought you your pajamas and your toothbrush, and I brought you that book you were reading, because I don’t know how long you’re going to stay, and -,”

His father gave him a small laugh. “It’s alright, son, thank you.”

Castiel stopped in his tracks. “I’m forgetting something,” he said. “I’m sure I’m forgetting something.” He gave an exasperated sigh, and sat on the edge of the bed, now turning his head to closely watch his father. “Are you alright, dad?”

His father smiled at him again, extending his arm to grab a hold of his son’s hand. “I’m alright, Castiel. Honestly, I feel just fine, and a bit bored, since they won’t let me move.”

“You shouldn’t move,” Castiel said quickly.

Dean came to stand next to them, feeling incredibly awkward, like he was interrupting something really private. “Did they tell you anything new?”

Father nodded. “Well, they told me I had a heart attack. And that they’re running some test, and that I would have to make some changes, and…” He sighed, shaking his head. “No, nothing new, really. They always say the same crap.”

Castiel was squeezing his father’s hand. “Well, it doesn’t sound like crap to me. You had a heart attack, dad. That’s pretty serious.”

He just waved his hand. “It happened before, it’ll happen again. I’m not going to stop living my life just because they tell me to.”

Castiel froze. “What do you mean, it happened before?”

Dean threw a look at the man lying in the bed – guilt was written all over his face. “I really gotta go,” Dean hurried to say. “I told Bobby I’m just gonna be late, so…” He pointed to the door. “It’s good to know you’re alright, sir. Cas, call me if you need a ride again, okay?” he added, but Castiel’s eyes were glued to his father.

“Thank you, Dean,” he muttered. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, walking backwards. “See ya later.”

He was gone, and they were left in uncomfortable silence.

“You had a heart attack before?” Castiel repeated, blinking.

His father shrugged. “I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“That’s not the point,” Castiel said, feeling anger rising in his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Castiel,” his father started. “I had a heart attack. It happens, okay?”

“No, dad,” Castiel exhaled through his nose. “It’s not okay. You should’ve told me. How was I supposed to know? I could’ve-,”

“Castiel,” he said, this time more gently. “I only just got you back, son. I didn’t want to burden you with that. I tried to control my lifestyle, and I’m going to keep doing that. But I’m getting older, Castiel. Sometimes it just happens.”

Castiel was staring at their hands, still holding onto each other. “Last night,” he said quietly, “the doctor wouldn’t let me see you because I didn’t have this crap on my face. He said they couldn’t possibly know what could trigger the attack.”

His father’s expression was pure shock now. “They told you that?”

Castiel nodded.

“Well, that’s some big bullshit.”

“Dad…”

“No, it is.” He shook his head. “How could you possibly give me a heart attack? Castiel, you’re the reason why I’m still holding up, okay?” He squeezed his hand even stronger now. “Son, I’m happy that you’re back. And yes, I was excited about you coming back, but that’s not…” He shook his head again, trying to sit more squarely, but Castiel just put his hand on his shoulder gently to keep him down.

“This is in no way your fault, Castiel,” he said, putting on that completely dad-voice of his. “Is that understood?”

Castiel nodded, squeezing his hand back. “Understood,” he muttered. “I’m just scared for you, that’s all.” He leaned forward, resting his head on his father’s chest.

“I know, son,” his father said gently now, threading his fingers through his son’s hair. “But you don’t have to be. I’ll be just fine.”

Castiel nodded again, but he still felt uneasiness biting at his heart.

***

Dean pounded at Castiel’s door as soon as he got home from work. He waited for him to call him to come and pick him up, but the phone never rang. Dean was unwilling to admit that he was already panicking, probably without any reason. Probably.

And yes, Castiel opened the door after the third knock, frowning.

Dean spread his arms in question. “How did you get home?”

“I took a cab,” Castiel said sternly, and turned to leave. But he left the door open, which Dean took as an invitation to come in.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he asked, following Castiel to the living room.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” he answered, his back still turned to Dean.

“You wouldn’t, I already told Bobby what’s going on.” Dean stood with hands on his hips. “I thought something happened.”

“Nothing happened,” Castiel gave a quick reply and went to the kitchen.

“Are you-,” Dean followed him again, stopping in the doorway. “Are you pissed at me?”

Castiel tilted his head as he opened the fridge. “A bit, yes.”

“Why?”

Castiel pulled a bottle of beer from the fridge. “Do you want a beer or something else?”

Dean continued staring at him in silence. Castiel shrugged and closed the fridge, taking the bottle with him as he headed for the back porch.

Dean rolled his eyes but followed him still. They both sat at the big bench on the porch, the one Dean still remembered both of their fathers working on, during one of John Winchester’s quiet phases.

Castiel opened the beer bottle and pushed it in front of Dean. Dean took it wordlessly and they both sat there in silence.

“I’ve always felt alone,” Castiel said suddenly, his voice quiet. “I mean, before I… I always felt alone.”

Dean turned his head to look at him, but he kept quiet, waiting for him.

“I guess that’s what depression does. Or maybe it’s anxiety,” Castiel continued, looking at his hands. “It makes you feel like you’re always alone. I mean, we did hang out, and I enjoyed working at the library with dad. Lots of people were coming every day, and they were always talking with me, telling me how nice and polite I was, but I just felt awkward.” He shrugged. “I always did, I still mostly do. But the worst thing was to be alone. Whether it was at night, or early in the morning, or on afternoons when we couldn’t hang out, I would suddenly feel lonely. Not to mention the perpetual insomnia, when I would lie in my bed, wide awake, listening to the silence, and it was so deafening, Dean.

“So I would keep myself busy. That’s why I was always reading, or working on something, so as not to think. Because when I got time to think, bad things would happen. I would think about how everyone, even you, had so many friends, and I had only a few. And even those few would always choose someone else over me.”

“That’s not true,” Dean interrupted, still watching him closely.

Castiel shook his head. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. That doesn’t matter. What matters is that that’s how I felt. I felt alone, and I felt lonely, and other, even more terrible things would come to my mind. Thoughts about how, if I was to kill myself, no one would even notice. No one except my father.” Castiel sighed. “He was the reason why I held on for so long in the first place.

“But one thing depression surely does, is make you numb. It makes you believe that everyone would be better off without you, anyway. Nobody needs you, and you’re just a burden, in the best case. Depression makes you brave enough to pull your father’s razor across your wrists, and you don’t even think about the pain.”

Dean shivered at that. “Cas…” he started gently, but Castiel shook his head again.

“It was selfish, I know,” Castiel said slowly. “But I couldn’t-,” He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “But I couldn’t stand it anymore, Dean. I couldn’t stand that constant voice in my head that was telling me all these things.

“But there was this one thing, like I said, that kept me alive for so long. It was the thought of my father being alone. I know a lot of people love him, especially those people at the library, but it’s different. They don’t love him like I do. They don’t worry about him like I do. They don’t know how stubborn he gets, and how he cares more about everything else than about himself.”

Dean huffed a small laugh. “Well, now I see where you get that from.”

Even Castiel tried to smile at that. “Perhaps,” he said quietly, but then continued. “I don’t want to… Look, I want you to know that I thought about you, too. That I thought about how you would react to my death. All I could see is that you would be better off without a friend who was always alone, whom you always had to drag with you, and who was-,” He stopped himself, shaking his head.

Dean reached out for him now, gently putting his own hand over Castiel’s. “That was never true, Cas,” he whispered. He could feel his throat tightening, and something hard squeezing at his heart. “You were never a burden, Cas. You were so much more.”

Castiel absently nodded his head. “No, but look…” He didn’t move his hands under Dean’s. “I know you would be good without me. But I was constantly thinking about my father, and it kept me breathing, until one day I couldn’t anymore. But what I’m trying to say is, not even the depression that made everything else numb, couldn’t delete the fear for my father. Not ever.” He finally raised his head to look at Dean. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

Dean nodded, avoiding looking him straight in the eyes. “I think I do, Cas.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me that my dad had a heart attack before?” Castiel was watching him closely now, but there was no anger in his voice. Just a whole lot of sadness, which Dean couldn’t bear to hear.

“It wasn’t my right to tell you that,” Dean said, still not letting go of Castiel’s hands. “We – me and Sam, we tried to help him, you know? No matter what you think, we _were_ hurt by your-,” he paused there, feeling bitterness rising on his tongue. He tried to swallow it down. “And we did take care of him after he had the attack. But the Rising happened, and things were a mess, and…” He took a deep breath, Castiel’s eyes on his face. “We were forced to move on, is what I’m trying to say. And your father was better. And then you came back, and he was just ecstatic.”

Dean swallowed, thinking about how his own heart jumped when he heard Castiel was back. “And it just never came up, and I guess he didn’t want to scare you because everything was fine.” Dean shook his head. “You can’t really blame him, Cas.”

Castiel looked away again. “I’m trying not to. But I am mad, Dean. I should’ve known; maybe I would have been able to help him.”

“You’re helping him by being here,” Dean said, giving him a small smile. He squeezed Castiel’s hands once more, and then reached for his beer. “I’m sure you will mother hen him as soon as he’s back.”

Castiel smiled at that, looking back at him. “Well, he had it coming, with all that scaring me, and keeping secrets like that from me.”

Dean chuckled, raising his beer, which was getting warm already. They sank into comfortable silence, just sitting there and watching over a big backyard. Dean remembered more than one occasion when he and Sam had come there and made some barbeque.

“I missed this,” Castiel muttered after a moment.

Dean agreed wordlessly. He didn’t know if Castiel meant the house or this – sitting on the back porch and talking. They had been doing that a lot, before Castiel’s death, just sitting outside on warm summer nights, talking about nothing and everything.

Dean hoped he meant both.

***

Dean was bent over a big black car, a frown of concentration on his face. It was a messy job he had, and his thoughts were still quite focused on Castiel and his dad.

He remembered the expression on Castiel’s face when they had told him he could not go and see his father, and he felt anger consuming him again. He thought doctors were supposed to be understanding. They were supposed to be more educated than anyone, and they should know that people like Castiel weren’t a threat to anyone.

God, he couldn’t possibly imagine a scenario where Castiel would purposely hurt his dad. Castiel, who was kind and insecure and gentle and still so strong, who had sad eyes and deep scars on his pale wrists.

Dean wished he had done something more, right then and there. He wished he had punched the doctor in his face. He should ask Sam if doctors were even allowed to do that. He didn’t know much about new rights, but the kid was following those changes constantly.

Dean didn’t even hear Charlie when she came behind him.

“Dean!” she raised her voice, and he jumped, bumping his head on the hood of the car, and making the oil spill everywhere.

Charlie instantly jumped away, but not fast enough, and the oil ended up all over her shirt and face.

“Shit, Charlie!” Dean yelled. “You can’t just sneak behind me like that!”

“I wasn’t sneaking!” Charlie yelled back, trying to shake the oil from her hands and the papers she was holding. “I’ve been calling you since I came into the room! If you weren’t so busy daydreaming about your boyfriend, maybe you would’ve heard me!”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s still your fault!”

Charlie glared at him. He took the rug he had in his pocket and threw it in her face. “Try with this, but I don’t think it’s gonna come off of that shirt.”

“You think, genius?” she bit back, and rubbed the rug over her face.

“It looks better this way anyway,” Dean said after a minute of silence.

Charlie stuck her tongue out. “Do I still have any?” she asked him, still holding the rug.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “No, but you have no make-up either.”

“What?” Charlie’s eyes grew wide. She looked at the rug, threw it at him, and hurried to look at herself in the car’s rearview mirror. “Shit,” she muttered. “ _Shit_ ,” she repeated as she tilted her head. “I don’t have any here.”

Dean shrugged. “So what?”

Charlie frowned. “I should have it on while working, it says so in those stupid new rules.”

Dean waved his hand. “Screw the rules. Me and Bobby won’t mind, and you’re always in the back anyways.”

Charlie still looked insecure, still throwing glances at her reflection. “I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Dean grinned at her.

“You’re a jerk,” she retorted, but still smiled at him. “You sure you won’t mind? I know you’re not really comfortable with the whole-,”

“I’m fine, Charlie,” Dean rolled his eyes. “Why did you need me anyway?”

“Well, nothing since you spilled that crap all over the papers,” she complained, coming back and picking said papers from the floor. “I couldn’t read Bobby’s writing then, but now it’s just hopeless.”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, well, it’s a mess there anyhow. Two papers less or more.”

Charlie frowned. “Both of you are horrible,” she sighed and turned on her heel to march away.

Dean just exhaled and turned back to the car.

She came back not an hour later, carrying two cups of coffee and some more papers under her arm. “Dean Winchester, put that crap away!” she yelled from all over the room.

Dean chuckled and raised his head to look at her. “Here,” he yelled back, raising his hands to show her he was wiping them on the rug.

She came closer and gave him his mug, which he accepted with gratitude. She had no more make-up on her face, and was wearing a clean t-shirt.

“I thought I was a jerk,” he commented, sipping on the coffee.

“You are,” Charlie said calmly, raising the papers. “But I need you to decode this for me. Careful with that coffee though, I don’t have any more shirts here.”

Dean chuckled, taking the papers from her. “I’ll see what I can do.”

They walked to the closest table, covered in all different kinds of car parts, and Dean made a room for them. They both were bent over the papers, but Dean had no idea what they were supposed to say.

“Shit,” Dean muttered.

“I know,” Charlie agreed. “It’s like he’s writing it with his foot or something.”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t even know what this is supposed to be. Like, I’m pretty sure this says ‘engine’, but I’m also pretty sure this one’s ‘beef’.”

Charlie laughed. “Oh gosh, I will be stuck here forever. I mean, I already died once, maybe this is how I die again.”

Dean threw an arm around her shoulders. “Well, I’m gonna die here for the first time, if that makes you feel better.”

She shook her head. “Sadly, it doesn’t.”

Dean laughed softly, and drank the last of his coffee. “I’m sorry, kiddo.” He turned back to the car, and heard her sigh behind him.

They suddenly heard approaching footsteps, and a tall black man walked into the garage. He threw a look at Charlie, and something in his face darkened. “Dean,” the man said as a greeting, looking back at him.

“Hi, Gordon,” Dean said, straightening.

Charlie threw a friendly “Hello”, but Gordon seemed to ignore her, instead extending his hand for Dean to shake it. “How are you, Dean?” he asked.

“Fine as always,” Dean answered coldly. “You?” He met Charlie’s eyes for a moment, hoping to somehow warn her. She looked confused.

“I was better,” Gordon said, taking a step back. “Still feel chills when I see these things walking around freely.”

Dean could see from the corner of his eye how Charlie tensed. “Something wrong with your car?” he asked, ignoring Gordon’s comment.

“Yeah,” he said. “Tried to fix it myself, but I can’t find anything wrong. She keeps making this horrible sound when I break.”

Dean nodded. “Could you bring her here tomorrow by noon? I’m kinda busy today, but I could check it out then.”

“Yeah, sure,” Gordon said.

There was an awkward moment of pause where neither of them moved, and then Gordon started walking backwards. “See ya tomorrow then,” he said and walked away before Dean even said bye.

Dean and Charlie were standing still for a moment, until they could no longer hear his steps.

“What just happened?” Charlie said weakly.

Dean sighed. “That was Gordon.”

Charlie snorted. “I figured that much.”

“He was HVF before,” Dean continued, ignoring her comment. “Used to fight by my side.” He looked at her, and saw discomfort on her face. “But he went a bit overboard,” he continued. “I mean, we all fought. We all pulled the trigger and did what was necessary back then, but Gordon…” He shook his head. “Gordon downright hated the...” he trailed off, but Charlie just nodded in understanding. “He still does, actually.” He looked down at his hands. “You just… Be careful around him, alright?”

He turned back to the car, Charlie standing still. He could feel her eyes on his back.

“He came here once before,” Charlie muttered. “He was nice to me, even chatted a bit while he waited for Bobby.”

Dean didn’t know what to say, so he stayed quiet.

“It’s not fair, Dean,” Charlie muttered after a moment of silence.

“I know, kiddo,” Dean muttered back.

***

Castiel was frantically digging through all the nightstands, and cabinets, and closets in his house. Dean was supposed to be there in half an hour to drive him to hospital, and he ran out of mousse.

He had noticed there hadn’t been much left when he had been putting it the day before, but he was sure he had more stashed somewhere. Turned out he was wrong. He couldn’t find any for his dear life.

Panic was washing over him and, if his heart was still beating, he was sure it would jump right out of his chest. They were supposed to pick his father up from hospital today, and if he didn’t have any mousse on, they wouldn’t let him take him home.

“Meg,” he whispered as he remembered the only other PDS sufferer he knew in this town. He rushed to his room, picking up his phone, and hoping as hell he had her number somewhere.

He was lucky this time, and Meg picked up after the second ring.

“Hello?” Her voice was sweet and happy.

“Hello Meg,” Castiel said. “It’s Cas.”

“Oh, hi Clarence!” Meg greeted cheerfully. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine,” Castiel hurried to say. “Listen, I wanted to ask you if you still have some mousse. I know you don’t use it so-,”

“Wow, straight to the point, huh?” Meg said, but she didn’t sound irritated. “Yeah, I do have some. You need it?”

“Yes, umm,” Castiel stuttered, relieved. “I’m going to pick up my father from hospital.”

“Oh? Is he okay?” she asked, but she didn’t sound sincere.

“Yes, he’s fine now,” Castiel answered. “Could you, umm- Could I come to pick it up or?”

“I can bring it to you if you want.” She sounded bored now. “I’m going to work so I can drop by?”

“O-okay,” Castiel stuttered again. “Thank you, Meg. You know where I live?”

“Yeah, I think I do,” she said, and Castiel could hear shuffling from the other side. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Thank you, Meg,” Castiel repeated as Meg hang up the phone.

Castiel kept pacing down his house while he waited for her. He got everything ready, he just needed to put on the mousse and he was ready to go. He looked at the clock. Dean would be there soon, too.

He heard a knock on the door, and he hurried to open it.

Meg gave him a toothy grin, big sunglasses lying on the tip of her nose. She looked at him over them, and he could clearly see she still didn’t wear any contacts. Her pale skin looked sick in the bright sun, but the expression on her face was a happy one.

“Hello, Clarence,” she said, pushing a small tube into his hand. “Here’s your mousse.”

“Thank you, Meg,” he replied, smiling at her. “I owe you one.”

Meg raised one of her delicate eyebrows. “We can arrange something.” She grinned. “Why do you need that crap anyway?”

“I need to pick up my father today,” Castiel answered. “And the last time I came without it, they wouldn’t even let me see him.”

“Well, that’s a shitty thing to do,” Meg commented, and frowned.

“Tell me about it,” Castiel agreed. “I would invite you in, but Dean’s coming to pick me up in a minute, so…”

Meg just nodded. “Yeah, I have work too, but listen…” She pulled the sunglasses from her nose and looked straight at him. “Have you heard about the Undead Prophet?”

Castiel frowned. “Yes, I heard about him. He’s the leader of that cult, the one which is connected with terrorism.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “Yes, and no. Look, I don’t really have time to explain.” She reached into a bag that was hung on her shoulder, digging for something. “But he’s not all that bad. He just wants us to have equality, right?” She pulled out some pen and paper and, putting the paper on her thigh, started writing something on it. “He says that we are beautiful the way we are, that we are here with a reason, and that we should not be embarrassed about it. In fact, we should be proud. We should be great.” She finished writing, and pushed the paper in Castiel’s hand. “It’s a shitty thing that happened to you, but that will keep happening for as long as we let it. Even worse things, too. Did you hear about those five PDS’s getting killed over in New York?”

Castiel shook his head, and she continued: “Of course you didn’t. Because they burry that kind of stuff down as soon as it happens, while at the same time they make a fuss about two PDS’ going rabid, and make a terrorism connected with the only guy trying to help us, when in fact it was probably just some two weirdos going crazy.” She took a deep breath. “Those five PDS’ in New York… Their heads were cut clean, Castiel.”

Castiel looked at her in shock, his whole body giving a shudder. “I didn’t-,”

“Like they were monsters, Cas,” Meg said, shaking her head. “The Prophet is trying to make these things heard. He’s trying to make those disgusting people pay. And he’s trying to tell us that we are not to be ashamed. We shouldn’t bend under the rules they thrust at us, just so the living would be comfortable. And look at that giving-back-to-society crap going on in the UK.” She shook her head again, a look of disgust on her face.

“I-,” Castiel started, unsure what to say.

He was saved from that when they heard a familiar sound of a big black car parking in front of the house. “That’s Dean,” Castiel pointed out. “I should go get ready.”

Meg nodded, putting the sunglasses back on her face. “I’m just saying, Castiel. You shouldn’t hide either. That paper I gave you? There’s a web address and password on it. You should check it out.”

Castiel look at the paper in his hand, and nodded. “Thank you, Meg,” he muttered for what seemed the fiftieth time that day.

Then they heard a loud steps, and Dean yelling: “You ready, Cas?”

Meg smiled at him one more time, and then turned to leave. “Don’t worry, Winchester, I wasn’t seducing you boyfriend.”

Dean nodded at her as she passed him, his expression flat.

“See ya around, Clarence,” she yelled as she sat in her car, and drove away.

Dean turned back to Cas, almost tripping on a step. “What was she doing there?”

“She brought me some mousse,” Castiel said, raising the tube for Dean to see it. “I ran out of mine. I thought I had some more, but seems like I don’t.”

Dean nodded. He tilted his head toward the tube in Castiel’s hand. “You gonna put it on so we can go?”

“Yes,” Castiel answered, absently. “Just give me a minute.” He turned back inside.

“I’ll wait for you downstairs,” Dean said, entering behind him.

Castiel squeezed the paper Meg gave him, and stuffed it in his pocket.

 


	4. Part 3: He Is Not Safe

Castiel’s father proved to be a strong man indeed.

Castiel didn’t let him go to work at all, and took all the precautions the doctors instructed them to. When Dean had repeated his comment about Castiel mothering him, his father had just laughed and nodded in agreement.

Castiel didn’t care about that though. He continued ‘mothering’ his father, and making him eat whatever Castiel prepared for him instead of the crap he usually ate. To his credit, his father accepted that only with a couple of jokes, and with no complaint.

Castiel thought that he secretly liked Castiel’s cooking. When he had told Dean that, he laughed. “Well, I would eat whatever if someone else cooked it for me, so yeah, I think you’re right.”

Castiel hadn’t known whether to agree or smack him.

Soon enough, everything fell back in place. Castiel was mostly working at the library while his father rested, and then they would spend their free time hanging out with Winchesters. Sam was often writing his homework, and teasing Cas about finally being older than him. And Dean…

Well. Things had always been a bit weird with Dean.

Dean had been his best friend since their junior year in high school, which wasn’t all that long, but Castiel felt oddly at ease with him; he always had. Dean had a way of making everything seem easy and light, even making Castiel’s father laugh. And Castiel couldn’t help but notice just how much more grown-up Dean seemed. He couldn’t quite explain it – it was still Dean, with his wide smile, and freckled nose – but he was also Sam’s older brother who worked hard to send him to college. He had always cared about Sam, especially since their mother had died – the main reason why they had moved all those years ago – but now there was something a bit more, well, mature about it.

Dean had said Castiel that their father had died in the Rising, but he hadn’t told exactly how, and Castiel didn’t want to push it. But John Winchester had never been an ideal father, and even though he had cared about the boys, he had had a strange way of showing it. Castiel still remembered all those times Dean had tried to hide his bruises (but Castiel had always been able to notice them, in a strange way Dean would’ve held himself or hissed when trying to reach for something), and all those times Dean had come to take him and Sam for a drive, just because he couldn’t stand to be in the house with his father anymore.

Maybe, Castiel secretly thought, the Rising gave Dean a second chance too. Because there was still something so bright in Dean’s smile, something that made Castiel feel warm inside.

“Good boy, that Dean Winchester,” his father commented while they were cleaning after the dinner, like he read Castiel’s mind. “Always has been.”

Castiel nodded in agreement.

“He helped me a lot, after you…” his father stuttered as he took a plate from Castiel’s hand. “It struck him hard too, you know? But he always tried to help me first. Selfless boy, he is. Sometimes too selfless, you know?”

Castiel continued staring at the plates he was washing. “I know, dad. He’s my best friend.”

His father nodded in agreement.

It was a peaceful night, and Castiel got ready for bed early, washing the make-up off his face. He stood in front of the mirror in his room, willing himself to look at his reflection for longer than five seconds. The paper Meg had given him was lying on his desk, unused.

There was a knock on the door, and his father entered not waiting for reply.

“Dad!” Castiel yelled. “I don’t have-,”

“I know, I see,” his fathered stopped him in his sentence, coming to sit on his bed. “I told you before, and I won’t stop telling you, son: you cannot hurt me, okay?”

Castiel made a face, but didn’t say anything. “You needed something or?”

He shrugged. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m glad, son. I’m glad that you’re getting back to normal. And I’m glad that you’re hanging out with your friends. Good boys, those Winchesters.”

“I know, Dad,” Castiel said. “I know I’m lucky to have you all.”

His father nodded. “But are you happy, son?”

Castiel paused. “I think I am, dad.”

His father nodded again. The two of them had always been able to understand each other, but sometimes some things were too heavy to say out loud. Sometimes, even his father lacked words for things he wanted to say. But Castiel understood, regardless.

They smiled at each other. The night was warm and light, and his father was living and breathing and sitting in his bedroom. Castiel really thought that, after all that happened in the last few years, this was as close to happiness as they get. He thought that he could live with that.

The peacefulness of the evening was interrupted when they heard a gunshot echoing in their street.

They looked at each other, and then they heard a couple more.

“Stay inside!” they both said as they hurried downstairs.

“No, dad,” Castiel raised his voice. “You can’t go outside.”

“And neither can you,” his father answered, opening the front door and running to the street.

Castiel wasn’t too surprised when he saw both Sam and Dean running out too.

“What happened?” Sam asked when they got close enough.

Castiel’s father shrugged his shoulders as they all looked at the end of the street.

Their street was one of the last ones, and not so far down, it turned into a dusty road that led to the big farmer’s houses outside town.

Castiel noticed a hard grip with which Dean held a gun in his hand. “Y’all stay here, you hear me?” he almost growled, pushing past them, and his tone left no place for arguing. Sam was still standing on the sidewalk, but he didn’t follow him either.

“Let’s go inside, Castiel,” his father said, gently clapping his shoulder.

They threw one more look down the street, and Castiel nodded his head, following his father back.

Two more shots came.

“Like hell,” Castiel muttered, and ran down the street, panic washing over him. “Go inside, Dad, I mean it,” he yelled back as he heard his father calling out for him. “I’ll be right back.”

Castiel didn’t know if his father was too slow, or if he decided to listen to him just this once, but he was deeply grateful when he didn’t hear footsteps behind him.

Few moments of running and he saw Dean’s back, tense and straight, gun firmly held in his hand.

“Dean,” he called out for him when he got close enough.

Dean turned to him, and Castiel could see a flash of panic on his face when he saw Castiel make-up-less face, before it turned to something irritated.

“What are you doing here? I told you-,”

“I won’t let you go alone,” Castiel said, breathing heavily as he came to a stop next to him. “Either we both go back, or I follow you.”

Dean stared at him, frowning with anger, but then he nodded. “Just stay behind me, alright?”

Castiel nodded wordlessly.

They continued walking down the road, with less and less light to show them their way, but they didn’t have to walk too long before they saw a group of men standing in front of them.

They heard a click of a shotgun, and somebody raised a flashlight to look at them. Castiel blinked, too bright light hurting his eyes.

“Wow,” Dean yelled, as light fell on him too. “We heard shots, is there something wrong?”

Castiel blinked again, and finally he was able to see the men in front of them, realizing that Dean already knew them. There were five, Castiel too recognized some of them. He saw an older man named Alistair, who Castiel knew had a farm somewhere around there. There were three more guys he only vaguely remembered, and in front of them stood Gordon Walker. A look of disgust came on his face when he saw Castiel.

“Everything’s fine, Winchester,” Gordon said loudly. “Alistair thought he saw something so he called us to come and check out. Everything’s taken care of now.”

Castiel felt Dean went still beside him. He lowered his eyes from the men, and suddenly he saw a body lying behind their legs. His eyes grew in shock.

“What happened?” Dean asked before Castiel could give any reaction.

“It was a rabid,” Gordon answered coldly.

“You- you shot him,” Castiel stuttered, not able to take his eyes away from the body.

“It was a rabid,” Gordon repeated. “What was I supposed to do? Let him eat me alive?”

Dean asked: “What are you going to do with the body?” in the same time Castiel said: “You could’ve just shot him in the foot.”

“We’ll pick it up and hand it over to local authorities,” Gordon said, ignoring Castiel’s comment. His eyes were glued to Dean, his expression worryingly empty.

“That was someone’s kid!” Castiel yelled, still looking the body behind their legs, its limbs bent in unnatural positions. Castiel could only think about how many shots they heard. _What if there had been someone else?_ “They had family and you shot them!” he yelled again, peeling his eyes of the body to look straight at Gordon. “How can you be so calm?” He could feel Dean watching him.

“It shouldn’t have gone after me,” Gordon replied in even voice.

“They,” Castiel said, and he felt himself moving even though he had no idea what he was doing. “They were a person!” he said, trying to push past the men to the body, but they just shoved him back.

“Hey, back off!” someone yelled at him at the same time Gordon said: “You better keep your rotter calm, Winchester. He might go rabid too.”

Castiel didn’t have time to react before Dean was stepping forward.

“That’s enough,” Dean said, his voice low and warning. He took hold of Castiel’s upper arm, pulling him back. “Come on, Cas. We can’t do anything here anyway.”

Castiel stood there for a few more moments, not taking his eyes off the body, until Dean pulled him back with him.

Castiel walked backwards until he saw men turning to the body again, and bending down to collect it. He shook Dean’s hand off him, complete and utter rage washing over him. He turned around and marched back towards their street.

“Cas!” Dean called after him, and Castiel could feel him reaching for him again.

“Don’t!” Castiel turned around, raising his hand in warning. “Just don’t!”

“What was I supposed to do, Cas?” Dean picked up his pace, walking beside him now.

“I don’t know, Dean!” Castiel raised his voice, bitterness clear in it. “Anything except just stand there and do nothing!”

“And what do you think they’d do, huh? You think they would just let us take the body? Or they would listen to what I have to say? Or did you want me to shoot them?” Castiel could tell Dean was mad too, but he didn’t care.

He hurried, but Dean grabbed his arm and turned him away to look at him.

“They’re dangerous, Cas! I warned you about them! And what do you do? You attack their leader who’s holding a gun, with a dead body under their feet!” Dean was almost yelling now, his hands shaking. Castiel could see him struggling to hold the gun.

“Dammit, Cas, they shot one guy, you think it would be a problem for them to shoot two more?”

Castiel looked at his face, expecting to see more anger, but what he found was far more than that. He saw fear and worry.

But anger was consuming him, and he didn’t want to let Dean off the hook that easily.

“We should’ve done something,” he said, jerking his arm away from Dean. “They killed that PDS, and they claim he was rabid.” He searched Dean’s eyes as he muttered: “What makes you think they won’t say that when my turn comes?”

He saw Dean’s eyes grow wide, but Castiel didn’t stay to listen to what he had to say. He turned and ran to his home as fast as he could.

“Castiel!” he heard his father yell as he closed the door.

“Are you alright?” he continued, rushing to him. “Sam made me stay with him. What happened, son?”

Castiel was still breathing heavily. “Someone shot a rabid, back there, near the farms.”

His father’s eyes were filled with nothing but worry as he watched him closely. “Are you alright?”

Castiel nodded. “I’m fine, dad. You should go to bed now. I’m going too.”

He didn’t stay to wait for his father’s reply. He rushed back to his room, and closed the door behind him.

He opened his laptop and wrote in the address Meg gave him.

***

“Those clinics, they keep rabids locked up in a cage, and they send them away for treatment so that they can teach them to integrate, to be what the living demand. I wonder how long they’re going to be in that cage. How long are you going to be in your cage?” The man with face hidden in black cloth kept talking for hours and hours. It was all pretty much the same, and Castiel could see why young people would come to him. He was telling them what they wanted to hear.

“What’s stopping you from being the people you are? Instead of copies of who you used to be.” The Prophet kept talking. Castiel was almost unwilling to admit that a lot stuff he was saying actually made sense. “Or what they tell you you have to be. Why don’t you break free? Because when you finally do, I promise, you’re not going to want to go back. Because you’re going to be beautiful. You’re going to be the future.”

It did sound a bit too much like a cult. And certain parts were obviously hateful.

But Castiel was all too familiar with hiding, and walking around on the tips of his toes. He was getting tired of that. He was getting tired of being afraid and ashamed. He was getting tired of pretending, and trying to fit in.

“…Because the living have tried to control us with shame. If we are serious about becoming free, the first shackle we have to throw off is shame.”

A loud knock on his door shook him from his thoughts.

“Yes?” he called, quickly turning the laptop off.

He didn’t come downstairs that whole afternoon, losing himself in the weird web site, and he was almost expecting his father to come and get him.

But instead of him, Dean Winchester’s brown head peaked inside. “Hey,” he said in a quiet voice. “Can I come in?”

Castiel looked at him, raising one eyebrow. Then he nodded.

Dean walked in slowly, closing the door behind him. He sat on the bed, his eyes carefully watching Castiel’s pale face. Castiel remembered he had taken his contacts off once he had had lunch with his father. He also remembered the look on Dean’s face when he had seen him without mousse the previous night.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded almost automatically, turning on his chair to get a better look at him. “I’m fine. You?”

Dean nodded back. “I’m good. Sam kept me awake for hours, asking for details.”

Castiel was looking at his hands, not knowing what to say.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Dean said after a beat of silence.

Castiel raised his head to look at him.

“You were right, I should’ve done something,” he continued, still watching Castiel closely. “But they’re dangerous, Cas, you know? And you were standing there, without all that on your face, and you were going to pick up a fight, and I…” He breathed out, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes. “I panicked, okay? I just wanted to get us – get you – the hell away from them.”

Castiel felt himself relaxing. He could never have stayed angry at Dean, not ever. No matter how much he messed up, the stupid boy would always try to fix it.

“You don’t have to apologize, Dean,” he said gently. “I know I went overboard, there wasn’t-,” He shook his head. “There wasn’t anything we could’ve done. I just… I was just so mad. I still am.”

Dean nodded. “I know how that feels.”

They were still for a moment, looking at their hands. When their eyes met, they smiled at each other.

“We’re good?” Dean asked, looking at him through his lashes.

Castiel nodded, smiling. “We’re good.”

“Good,” Dean said, standing up and gently patting his shoulder. “You, umm. You wanna go to Harvelle’s tonight? Grab some beer?”

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, when Dean spoke again: “You don’t drink, yeah, sorry.” He waved his hands. “I keep forgetting that, sorry. I just thought-,”

Castiel grabbed his arm. “I’d like to come,” he said, smiling up at him.

“You would?” Dean blinked.

Castiel chuckled and nodded. “Yes, Dean, I would. If the invitation still stands, that is.”

“It does,” Dean hurried to say. “You, umm, you just come when you’re ready, and we can go.”

Castiel nodded again. “Alright. I’ll see you, then.”

“I’ll see you then,” Dean said, smiling at him. He started to leave, pulling his arm out of Castiel’s grip. He threw him one more smile before he closed the door.

As soon as he left, Castiel felt that hauntingly familiar feeling of loneliness crawling in his throat.

***

The words of the Undead Prophet were still ringing in his ears that night as he stood in the bathroom. He wasn’t sure why he was hesitating, why he was lingering. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing in the bathroom, like a nervous high school girl getting ready for her first date.

He wasn’t a high school student, not anymore. He felt older. Much older, and much more tired. He’d felt that way since he had dug his way out of his grave. He remembered the feeling of air on his fingertips, and dirt under his nails. He remembered the hunger burning deep in his belly. He remembered how desperate he had been to stop it.

Castiel shook his head. He was thinking about it only because of that goddamned prophet. It was getting into his head. It was nonsense. Just a way to pull young people into a cult, into making them do some dirty work for them. Like those young people that had gone rabid in a train full of people in the UK. Or those that had gone rabid in the middle of Washington.

There was some kind of drug that made PDS sufferers go rabid, that was what they were saying on TV.

For the first time, Castiel wondered what had happened to those folks that had turned rabid. The news had never said anything about them.

_…they burry that kind of stuff down as soon as it happens, while in the same time they make a fuss about two PDS’ going rabid, and make up terrorism connected with the only guy trying to help us…_

It sounded too much like a conspiracy theory.

It sounded like the living were trying to get rid of them under any cost, to destroy them fast and clean. And to clear their hands from it, putting all the blame on a strange cult that somehow affected all the PDS sufferers.

Castiel was all too familiar with feeling like you didn’t belong. He didn’t feel it significantly more since he came back from the dead. People were always judging, whatever you did, no matter how hard you tried to fit in.

It was almost expected that they would discriminate people that had risen from their own graves. Even though those people were their loved ones.

Castiel shook his head. _Too much of a conspiracy_.

But he remembered the look on Gordon’s face, he remembered the hate and disgust and emptiness that was so obvious that it almost hurt. He remembered the body under their feet, and the vengeful expressions on the other men’s faces. He remembered the badly hidden threat in Gordon’s voice.

He remembered the anger boiling in him, and he could feel it coming again.

It shouldn’t be fair. It wasn’t fair. He hadn’t chosen to come back from the dead. If Castiel had been asked, he would’ve stayed under the ground forever, rotting until there was nothing left to come back. But instead, he had come back. And to what? To more pain, more hurting, more sadness, more hate.

For the first time in his other life, Castiel looked in the mirror and the bitterness he felt wasn’t directed at his reflection.

_We shouldn’t bend under the rules they thrust at us, just so the living would be comfortable._

Castiel bent over the sink and let the cool water wash his face.

***

Dean heard a loud knock on their door, and he immediately jumped to his feet.

“That’s Cas,” he raised his voice so Sam could hear him in the kitchen. “You sure you’re not coming?”

“Nah,” Sam replied from there. “I have a lot of studying to do. You two love-birds go and have fun.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself,” he yelled back.

He grabbed his car keys and headed for the door. He knew it was ridiculous, but he couldn’t help that his heart was beating that much faster. He hadn’t had Cas for himself since… well, since he came back. There had always been someone with them, or something was happening, and, if Dean was being honest, it was awkward between them. But it was still Cas, his high school best friend who had been torn out of Dean’s hands before they even got the chance to live their lives. Before they got time to even ask things Dean would always wonder about.

And tonight Dean hoped to get a little part of those old times back. They used to hang out a lot, laughing and talking. Dean missed that. He missed the way Castiel would’ve smiled at him; a small smile that could’ve been seen only in the corner of his lips, a smile that meant Dean was saying something silly again but Castiel didn’t mind it. He missed how comfortable they had felt around each other, and how they had understood each other without saying a word.

Dean opened the door and went still. He felt a sudden wave of panic, before he recognized Castiel’s face, but even then he couldn’t still his heart, but this time for much less pleasant reasons.

Castiel was looking at him carefully, waiting for his reaction. He was pale, undead pale, his real skin shining under the street lights without make-up to cover it. His lenses were out again, revealing the colorless irises.

Dean couldn’t help but swallow. It seemed unreal, every time he saw him like that. There was panic in Dean’s throat, there was an instinct, telling him to turn on his heel and run as fast as he could, or to reach for his gun and fight that thing away. But there was also a bigger part of him that was making him see the sadness in Castiel’s eyes, the way his face moved when he talked, and the note of sympathy in his voice.

Dean had to repeat to himself again that, no matter what he looked like, this was still Cas. And honestly, he didn’t look that much different.

“You ready to go?” Dean hoped his voice wasn’t shaking.

Castiel slowly nodded, like he was still waiting for Dean to comment something. “Yes, I’m good. You?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, closing the door behind him. “Sam says he can’t come, has a lot of studying to do, or something. Giant nerd, that kid.”

Castiel smiled fondly. “I remember. He used to hang out at the library a lot.”

Dean shrugged. “Still does, I guess. It’s just his school’s library now. You want to walk or?” he asked, gesturing to his car.

Castiel paused for a minute. “Okay,” he said. “I feel like stretching my legs.”

Dean smiled at him. “Okay then.” He started walking down the street, Castiel by his side, and for a moment he felt like they were in high school again.

“You know,” Dean started, “come to think of it, it is actually Sam’s fault we met.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows in surprise at that comment. “Actually, yes,” he murmured after a moment. “He dragged you to library that day, right?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, he did. He met you first, started talking about some stupid book of his.”

Castiel smiled at the memory. “What was he then, twelve?”

“Yeah, twelve,” Dean replied, smiling. “I was taller than him back then.”

“ _I_ was taller than him,” Castiel said, chuckling.

The conversation was flowing between them easily, and it wasn’t disturbed even when they entered the Harvelle’s and curious heads turned to them in shock when they saw Castiel. Dean noticed how Castiel flinched, but he continued in bravely, and Dean followed him with a smile until they found an empty table.

A blond young waitress came to them. “Can I get you boys anything?” she asked nervously.

“Hey Becky,” Dean grinned at her. “One beer for me.”

“Same for me, please,” Castiel said, calmly but firmly.

Becky raised an eyebrow but nodded her head and left.

“What?” Castiel asked when he noticed Dean watching him with confused expression.

“You don’t drink,” he said as an explanation, frowning deeply.

Castiel shrugged. “I thought I should try to make the people here feel comfortable.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, more amused than he was willing to admit. But Becky came back before he got the chance to comment.

Becky put the bottles on their table, and crossed her arms on her chest. “But you don’t drink,” she blurted, watching them questionably.

Castiel grabbed a bottle and tilted it towards her. “I’m just being polite. It won’t go to waste, don’t worry.”

“You’re gonna drink it?” Becky said, raising one eyebrow again.

Castiel shrugged. “I’d prefer it if Dean drank both, but…”

Dean hid his chuckle with a sip of his beer.

“But how do you-,” Becky started, frowning.

“How do I survive?” Castiel offered after she didn’t continue. “Well, technically, I’m dead, so I’m not really surviving.”

Becky was still frowning at him, but she slowly nodded her head. “That wasn’t what I was thinking, but thanks I guess?”

“But it’s a bit rude to poke your nose into other people’s food, right Becky?” Dean interrupted.

She shook at that. “Yeah, umm.” She frowned even deeper, looking confused. “Enjoy your beer,” she stuttered out, and left quickly.

Dean shook his head. “Becky Rosen. You remember her?”

“Yeah, she’s not so bad,” Castiel said, shrugging. “I always thought she would do something big.”

Dean made a face. “Yeah, she knew every single gossip in this town and beyond.”

Castiel raised his eyebrow, looking after her. “I should have told her I feed off the souls of the innocent. Maybe she’d leave me alone.”

Dean almost spit out his beer trying to hold in his laugh. He really missed this, he realized, wiping at his mouth.

They sank back into a comfortable conversation, and soon enough curious heads turned away from them. Dean finished his beer, and Castiel pushed his towards him. Dean accepted wordlessly.

“No, but really,” Castiel commented after a moment. “What happened to her?”

Dean threw him a confused look, and Castiel nodded towards Becky, who was dragging her feet from one end of the bar to the other, picking up empty bottles and wiping the tables with an old-looking rag. “I remembered she had great plans, about journalism and stuff.”

Dean shrugged, taking a sip. “I don’t know, Cas. Quite honestly, I think the Rising happened to her, too.” He paused, looking at him from the corner of his eye. When Castiel didn’t react, he continued. “It put the whole world to wait. Everyone was panicking, a lot of dirty job needed to be done, so mostly everyone stayed behind. Schools stopped working, colleges too. I mean, I didn’t have big plans, but…” He shrugged again, turning the bottle on the table with two fingers.

“I mean, even Sammy stayed behind. You see he’s only finishing high school. It probably happened to her, too. She was a junior, right?” He waited for Cas to nod. “So, maybe she never got the chance. Who knows if she even finished high school.”

Castiel was staring at the table, unconsciously pulling the sleeves of his shirt further over his wrists. “I’m sorry that happened,” he almost whispered.

Dean shook his head. “It’s not your fault, buddy,” he muttered. He leaned forward. “Cas?” Dean forced him to look him in the eyes. Only when he was certain he had his full attention, Castiel’s eyes glued to his, he quietly said: “It’s good to have you back.”

Castiel gave him a small smile and looked away. Dean wasn’t convinced that Castiel actually believed him.

He was going to say something more, when someone opened the door of the roadhouse rather violently.

A group of people crowded in, led by no one else but Gordon Walker, laughing loudly. His steps seemed to stutter, his moves over-exaggerated. Dean felt Castiel went still beside him, and he automatically straightened in his chair.

The loud group took a table near them, not paying attention to anyone. Becky slowly dragged her feet to them, displeasure obvious on her face. Dean noticed other people staring at them, too.

Becky murmured something to them, and one more wave of loud laughter exploded from the table. They threw some inappropriate jokes, Becky’s face growing red until she marched away from them, squeezing apron around her waist until her knuckles turned white.

Dean hurried to finish his beer. “Maybe we should go,” he grumbled.

“It’s alright,” Castiel replied. Dean could feel him straining to keep his voice calm.

Dean tapped his fingers on the table, and from the corner of his eye noticed Gordon’s gaze falling on them. He clenched his jaw, and swallowed.

Becky showed up again, bringing bottles of beer on her tray, one for each man. She put them on the table and left as soon as she could. The group fell silent for a moment, while everyone opened their beer and took a sip or two.

Gordon’s eyes traveled back to where Dean and Castiel sat, and Dean felt uneasy. Castiel didn’t move a muscle.

Gordon slowly put his bottle on the table, but kept it in his hand. He looked away, and for a moment Dean relaxed.

But slowly, Gordon started talking. “Now, boys, this is what pisses me off.” His voice was dangerously calm, but loud enough so that everyone could hear him. “An ex-soldier, who should be considered hero, now has to sit here with a _rotter_ , no less…” He slowly took another sip, pointing his gaze back at them. “And the one who doesn’t even know his place, at that.”

Dean averted his gaze, reaching for his wallet. “We should go, Cas,” he muttered.

“No,” Castiel answered coldly.

Dean raised his head to look at him. Castiel was sitting squarely, his jaw stiff, and hands tightening around the neck of the empty bottle in front of him.

“We used to be celebrated,” Gordon continued. He slammed his fist on the table, drawing attention of everyone in the room. “We should be celebrated. We should not be forced to put up with this rotting trash, watch their ugly faces wherever we go.” He was looking directly at Castiel now. “Once they go rabid, everyone will come running to us again. Then they’ll ask for our help. They’re gonna whine, and cry.” Mutter of agreement came from the men sitting at his table. The rest of the room fell silent, watching them.

Gordon took one more sip of his beer. “They should just let us show the rotters their place, and be over with it.”

“You should keep your mouth shut,” Castiel said from his place, loud enough to be heard.

Gordon laughed out loud. “And what are you gonna do?” He stood up, slowly swaying to their table. “Huh, _rotter_?” He was sneering at Castiel, standing above them.

“Gordon, back off,” Dean said through his teeth, standing up himself. He heard the scraping of the chair, and knew that Castiel was standing up, too.

“Are you gonna eat my brain or something?” Gordon grinned, leaning on the table.

Castiel crossed his arms. “Maybe I would if you had any.”

Gordon’s face darkened, and he growled as he suddenly jumped at Castiel. Dean pushed Gordon back, putting himself between him and Cas, feeling his pulse racing. Castiel, to his credit, stood unfazed. At the same time, the men at Gordon’s table also stood up, their appearance threatening, but only that. They weren’t ready to fight, Dean could see that on their faces.

Gordon raised his hand, pointing one threatening finger to Castiel. “Watch it, rotter.” He stumbled backwards, keeping his distance from Dean. “You keep walking around without your make-up, someone might think you’re a rabid.”

“Hey,” Dean barked, seizing the front of Gordon’s shirt abruptly, anger boiling deep inside him. He leaned close to Gordon’s face, his crazed eyes looking right back at Dean’s.

“You listen now, and listen carefully, alright?” They were so close that Dean could smell his stinky breath, and just wanted to get away from him. But he couldn’t help but feel rage as he continued. “Somebody touches a hair on his head…” He pointed at Castiel, his voice low and dangerous. “And a hair will be all that’s left of you. You understand?”

“What in hell is going on here?” a light-haired woman yelled suddenly, appearing out of nowhere. She put her hands on her hips, watching them with a frown.

Dean released Gordon out of his grip, and he stuttered backwards, straightening his shirt.

“Ellen,” Dean said loudly. “It was just a small misunderstanding.”

Ellen stood still, still watching them closely. “I hope that’s settled now. If it’s not, you get the hell out of my roadhouse, is that understood?” She slightly turned to look at everyone in the room, her eyes lingering on the men behind Gordon. “I will not tolerate any kind of violence in here.” She still watched them as everyone started fretting, slowly turning back to their bottles.

Dean was still standing, his breathing accelerated, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s get out of here,” Castiel whispered in his ear, pushing him towards the door.

Dean nodded, and hurried out, avoiding Gordon’s table as much as he could. He could feel eyes on his back as they got out, fresh air ripping through their lungs.

Dean could still feel anger in his fists, adrenaline running through his limbs. He hurried in the direction of their street, hearing Castiel’s footsteps behind him.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he heard Castiel’s voice, so full of emotions he didn’t want to analyze.

“And what was I supposed to do?” Dean stopped in his tracks, turning around to face him. He was angry, and he was angry at Cas, too. “What, I should’ve just let him shoot you then and there?”

Castiel was frowning, and there was anger on his face, too. “No, you should’ve just stayed the hell out of it.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You really have the nerve, saying that, you know?”

Castiel’s pale face was staring at him, and Dean was sure it would be bright red if there was any blood left in it. “Why? Because I stand up for myself?”

“That’s not it, Cas!” Dean raised his voice. “That’s putting yourself in danger on purpose!”

Castiel’s jaw clenched again. “I’m putting myself in danger by not hiding myself? Is that what you’re saying? That I should wear my make-up, or someone will think I’m rabid?”

“I’m not saying that!” Dean pulled his hand over his face. “Christ, Cas! You can’t just walk around like that, with people like Gordon-,”

“You’re saying he’s right,” Castiel said, and it didn’t sound like a question. “I should just hide myself and-,”

Dean threw his hands in the air. “This isn’t about hiding, Cas!”

“You don’t have to lie, Dean!” Castiel was raising his voice now, too. “You don’t think I see the way you look at me? You don’t think I see how disgusted you are? How you shake every time you see me?” He was getting into Dean’s personal space now, pushing himself closer to him. “You’d rather pretend I’m not dead! You don’t think I know you’d rather I never came back? You’d rather I stayed there rotting!”

Dean was refusing to look directly at him, clenching his fists, and trying to get away from him.

Castiel took a step back, taking deep breaths. He watched Dean for a moment, with a mix of sadness and anger and disappointment on his face. “So why do you care anyway?”

“Because I found you!” Dean gritted through his teeth, turning his head to look right into Castiel’s eyes, his jaw trembling.

Castiel stopped and swallowed, his throat suddenly too dry to say anything.

“I found you, okay?” Dean almost whispered now, his voice raspy and shaking. He looked away again, slowly exhaling through his nose. He turned away and sat down on the sidewalk, his hands running through his hair.

He could feel Castiel watching him, his eyes following Dean’s hands.

“I didn’t know,” he whispered now, almost gently.

“You couldn’t,” Dean answered without thinking.

He heard shifting, and Castiel slowly sat beside him. From the corner of his eye, he could see Castiel’s hands trembling, like they were itching to reach out for him, but then they settled on Castiel’s elbows.

“I thought it was dad,” Castiel murmured. “That’s…” He coughed. “That was the only reason I felt almost guilty for doing it. I didn’t think you would…”

There was a moment of silence, with only a distant sound of crickets, and wind in the leaves.

“I didn’t see you at all that day,” Dean started quietly. “And the day before, you had said you felt sick. So I came to check on you.” He could feel Castiel watching his face, like he was trying to read something that was written there.

“The front door was locked,” he continued. “But it usually was when your dad was working, so I didn’t find it odd. I went to the back, called for you, nothing. Maybe he’s sleeping, I thought. So I tried the back door, and went upstairs to your room.” Dean rubbed a hand across his eyes. “I don’t remember how I came to the bathroom, I really don’t. But I remember…” His voice trembled, and he had to fight back the tears forming behind his eyes. Beside him, Castiel went still. “There was so much blood, Cas. So fucking much.

“I panicked, and I pulled you out of the tub, and I tried for your pulse, but I couldn’t find any. And I don’t remember that I called emergency, but I obviously did, they told me so. But I remember the sirens, and I remember them pushing me out, and that’s when I finally noticed the blood was on me, too.”

He could feel Castiel shaking beside him, but he couldn’t look at him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and Dean could almost feel his breath. “I didn’t mean for you to…” He trailed off, and Dean waited a minute for him to say something else.

When he didn’t, Dean spoke again. “I’m not blaming you, Cas. But I am angry. You have no idea just how long I was questioning myself, how I hadn’t seen some kind of signs, how come I didn’t know. How long I thought of all the ways I could’ve stopped you from doing it.

“I thought about how I should’ve invited you with us more often, but you never enjoyed going out so I didn’t want to burden you. I thought about that time I didn’t go to movies with you because Lisa Braeden had asked me out. I thought about that time you came to the party with me and disappeared after ten minutes. I thought about every time we talked about college, and how you were so excited to go and learn languages, how you said that maybe then you could travel the world, and I could come with you.

I thought about how Meg Masters asked you to prom and you said no.

I thought I should’ve done that before her, maybe I could’ve got you to at least spend the night with me.”

“Nothing you would’ve said… Nothing could’ve changed that decision, Dean,” Castiel said, and his voice was gentle, but Dean couldn’t see his face. “I was in a bad place back then, and you couldn’t… You couldn’t have known. And you couldn’t help me.”

“I could’ve postponed it.” Dean let out a small laugh, but it wasn’t a happy one. Under his voice, he murmured: “I even thought about how I was planning to ask you out for weeks, but I never grew the balls, and now I would never get the chance to tell you-,” he cut himself off, not trusting his voice anymore.

Castiel hand found his shoulder, his touch light and insecure. Dean slowly turned his head to look at him.

There was surprise on Castiel’s face, and something else, something Dean didn’t dare to recognize as hope.

“You mean that? You wanted to do that?” Castiel asked him quietly.

Dean nodded.

Castiel’s face relaxed into something gentler. “You couldn’t save me, Dean. You can’t save everyone.” He was searching Dean’s face for something, and perhaps he did find it, because he whispered: “But I would’ve said ‘yes’.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “You would’ve?”

Castiel nodded, looking his straight in the eyes.

Dean swallowed. “Would you say ‘yes’ now?”

Castiel smiled, that small smile that was seen only in the corner of his lips, that small smile that meant Dean was saying something silly again but he liked it. He nodded again: “Yes.”

Dean wasn’t thinking. He reached for him, and he smashed their lips together, and it might not have been the most gentle of kisses, and Castiel’s lips were still cold, and he tasted like medicine, but damn, in that moment, it was everything Dean ever wanted.

They parted, Castiel’s arms around his waist, and Dean’s hands gently cupping his jaw, thumbs stroking Castiel’s cheekbones. Silence was broken only by the sound of their breathing, neither of them moving.

Then, one of Dean’s hands slid slowly down Castiel’s arm. He gently took one of Castiel’s wrists in his hands, and rolled up his sleeve, exposing the stitched flesh there.

“I’m glad you’re back, Cas,” Dean whispered, tracing the uneven edge of Castiel’s wounds with his fingertips. “I’m glad I got the second chance. I know a lot of people didn’t. And I’d really like to take you on that date now,” he added, smiling softly.

Castiel was looking him closely. “I already said yes, Dean,” he teased.

Dean brought their hands to his lips and kissed the seams on Castiel’s wrist. He then leaned to press one more kiss on Castiel’s lips, Castiel already entwining their fingers together.

“But one thing first,” Dean breathed on his lips. “You promise you won’t ever do that again.”

Castiel nodded, the smile still there, and he kissed the corner of Dean’s lips. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.

 


	5. Epilogue

Dean moaned as he put a big carton box on Sam’s new dorm bed.

“Jesus fuck, I hope this is the last one,” he muttered, rubbing his lower back.

“Don’t curse,” Castiel said behind him, already unpacking one of the boxes.

Sam loudly exhaled and took the box Dean just brought, completely ignoring them. They were bickering all the way to the dorms.

He had heard them fighting the previous night, and it had sounded serious. It had sounded nothing like their usual so called fights, about dirty dishes and Castiel leaving his mousse everywhere except in the bathroom. Sam knew Dean was edgy recently, but he figured it was because Sam was moving and all the stress that came with it.

Last night, however, had proved it was something even more.

“You should go with him,” Dean had said.

“What?” had been Castiel’s confused reply.

“You should go to college too,” Dean had continued. “You shouldn’t stay here and rot with me. I’ll be fine, you know?”

“So what, now you’re trying to get rid of me?”

“What? No, I didn’t say that. I’m just saying, you wanted to go to college before, and-,”

“You wanted that, too.”

Sam could’ve pictured Dean waving his hand. “It’s different for me. I’m too old now anyway.”

“And I’m dead.”

“Cas-,”

“Look, Dean, I don’t know what you want from me. But I’m staying here. My dad needs me, and you’re here, and that’s all I need now, alright?”

“And what when that isn’t enough anymore?”

There had been a beat of silence.

“That will always be enough,” Castiel had said in a quiet voice.

“No,” Dean had almost yelled. “You don’t get it, do you, Cas? You might not be getting older anymore, but I am. And what will you do one day when I’m old, and you’re still young and-,” he had paused for a moment.

“You think that would matter to me?” Castiel’s voice had been angry. “You don’t think I haven’t thought about it? You don’t think I haven’t thought about how you will get grey and old, and how I won’t be able to follow you? How I won’t be able to grow old with you? How one day I will inevitably lose you?”

“Cas, this isn’t-,”

“If you think I would mind you growing old, you’re a damn fool, Dean Winchester.” Castiel’s voice had now sounded completely pissed off, and Sam wondered how come Dean hadn’t backed off yet. “The only thing I would mind is me not being able to grow old with you.”

Sam had hoped that would end here, but of course his stupid brother couldn’t have shut his stupid mouth, and suddenly all hell broke loose, and Sam had decided that he totally had to check everything for tomorrow’s trip to his college.

The said trip had been completely awkward, no matter how much Sam had tried to ignore them both, and they didn’t stop with their bitter retorts even while moving him in.

So Sam was honestly relieved when they heard a knock on his door, and he was a bit more than relieved when he saw a beautiful blond girl standing in the threshold.

“Hi!” she said cheerfully. “I’m Jess, I’m in the room 247, right down the hall. I saw you’re moving in too, and my shelf fell of the wall, so I was wondering if you would be so kind to try to fix it, please?”

Sam stared at her dumbly, until Dean shoved him as he pushed past him.

“Sure thing, Jess,” Dean said, smiling at her. “I’m Dean, and this dumb bigfoot over there is my brother-,”

“Sam,” Sam finally got his brain to function, and extended his hand, only to trip over his own legs.

But Jess just smiled at them. “Thank you, so much!”

Sam heard Castiel chuckle behind him.

Jess looked at him, and smiled even brighter. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“That’s okay,” Castiel smiled back. “I’m Cas.”

“So, where’s that shelf?” Dean asked, and they all followed Jess to her room. Dean motioned to Sam to come and help him, while Cas leaned in the doorway, watching him.

“So you’re a PDS, too?” Jess asked as she joined him. She then stopped, shock evident on her face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” She shook her head. “I just, I saw you’re not wearing any contacts, and, umm…”

Castiel smiled at her politely. “It’s okay.”

“No,” Jess shook her head. “I mean, I’m a PDS too. See?” She then rubbed her hand on her t-shirt until the mousse came off and the pale skin of her hands could be seen.

“Oh,” Castiel said. “You put it on your hands too?”

Jess made a face. “Yeah, I don’t… I don’t feel comfortable with people knowing it so easily, you know?” She shrugged her shoulders. “How come you’re only wearing it on your face?”

“Well, umm…” Castiel started. “I tried putting it on my hands, but I would just smudge everything with it. And as for contacts… They were hurting my eyes, so I just, stopped wearing them.”

Jess nodded. “But umm, if you don’t mind, it doesn’t bother other people? Because it bothers a lot of people I know.”

Castiel threw a look in Dean’s direction, and caught his eyes for a moment. “It used to, I think,” Castiel said slowly, looking back at her. “It still does bother some people, yes. But it doesn’t bother people who matter.”

Jess nodded her head, all serious now. “That’s really brave of you.”

Castiel shook his head, and looked at his hands. “I don’t think it is, you know. I don’t think we are supposed to hide what we are, that’s all.”

“It’s done,” Sam said, checking the stability of the shelf just one more time.

Jess looked at them and smiled again. “Oh, thank you so much!” She came closer to Sam. “That’s great, thank you!” She then turned to look at him. “You’re a freshman too?”

“Ye- yeah,” Sam stammered. “Law major. And you?”

Dean smirked as he moved away. He looked at Cas, still leaning in the doorway, and his smile turned into something softer. He leaned into him, and pressed their lips together for one lingering moment.

Castiel smiled back at him, took his hand and lead him out, leaving Sam and Jess alone.

“Winchesters are adorable when they try to flirt,” Castiel commented.

Dean frowned. “What do you mean?”

Castiel chuckled. “Well, you get all flustered when you try to flirt with someone you really like.”

“I wasn’t flustered around you,” Dean retorted.

Castiel just smiled at him.

“I wasn’t,” Dean almost whined.

“Of course you weren’t, Dean,” Castiel said, squeezing his fingers.

They walked in silence for a couple of moments, when Dean suddenly said: “Well, it doesn’t matter, because you fell for me anyway, so…”

Castiel chuckled again. “You got lucky.”

Dean looked at him, and smirked. “I suppose I did.”

They came to Sam’s room, and Dean sat on the bed. Castiel stood beside him and ran his fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean leaned into his touch.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Dean muttered, not really looking at him. “I just… I just worry, okay? I want you to be happy, and I don’t want you to miss out on something because of me.”

“I’m sorry, too. And I won’t,” Castiel answered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Time is on my side, Dean. If I really want to, I can apply for college anytime. The same goes for everything else.” He gently took Dean’s jaw, and made him look at him. “But I’m happy where I am right now. I’m happy to still have my dad, and I’m more than happy to have you. Is that understood?”

Dean smiled at him. “Understood.”

Sam came into the room, dopey smile on his face. Dean and Cas looked at each other. Castiel raised one eyebrow.

“You gonna help me unpack, or what?” Sam said, but he was still grinning.

“Okay, point,” Dean muttered before he got up.

Castiel just smirked.

***

“Let me,” Dean said that night, sitting on the edge of their bed. He took the bottle of medicine from Castiel’s hand, and expertly put it in its place. A bottle was still unopened, and the label on it was different, a color just slightly darker.

But Castiel just sat next to him, turning his naked back to him, and he silently continued.

Dean brought the syringe to the hole in Castiel’s spine and pressed. There was a quiet hissing sound, and Castiel twitched. His right arm started trembling, and he shook it in an attempt to stop it.

“Hey,” Dean said, grabbing his shoulders. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Castiel muttered, shaking his hand again. “This is not the first time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean was still holding onto him.

Castiel shook his head. “I didn’t want to bother you, it’s nothing.” His arm went still, and he flexed it slowly.

Dean pressed a kiss in the crook of his neck. “Is that why you changed your medicine?”

Castiel nodded, shifting so he could face him. “I went to the doctor’s yesterday, while you and Sam were packing the last things. She said it’s normal, it just happens sometimes. Something about nerves, and renewing them, I don’t know.” He grabbed the t-shirt that was lying behind him, and pulled it over his head.

“Why did she change your medicine then?” Dean frowned, studying the bottle.

Castiel shrugged. “She said it’s basically just an equivalent of vitamins for my body. Some extra stuff to help keep the balance, I guess.” He took the bottle from Dean’s hands, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You worry too much. It’s nothing. The medicine exists from before, that means it happened before.”

Dean carefully watched his back as Castiel put the bottle back in its drawer, and turned the lights off. He slowly came back and crawled to bed. Dean had little choice but to slip under the covers with him, shifting into more comfortable position. He noticed the smudge of mousse on Castiel’s neck, and absently reached his hand to wipe it off.

Castiel grabbed his hand and kissed his knuckles. “You worry too much,” he repeated in gentler tone, giving him a small smile.

“Do I?” Dean muttered, watching him.

“Yes,” Castiel said, and pressed his lips to Dean’s. It was a long and slow kiss, Castiel’s fingers gently soothing the lines of worry on his temples.

Dean breathed in and leaned his forehead on Castiel’s, his hands clinging to him.

“Sam will be just fine there, you know?” Castiel said in a quiet voice. “He’s a smart kid, and that’s his dream come true. And he will come home for holidays, and he loves you. Very much.” He pressed one more kiss to the corner of Dean’s lips.

Dean sank further into the sheets and allowed Cas to pull him to his chest.

He wrapped his arm firmly around Castiel’s hips and felt himself relaxing as Castiel threaded his fingers through his hair. It had taken him weeks, months to get used to the paleness of Castiel’s skin, and the silence of his chest, but now he didn’t mind it anymore. Oddly, he found it comforting, especially in the long night’s hours when sleep still wouldn’t have mercy on him.

Because Dean still worried. There was still that nagging voice in his head that didn’t allow him to think he got to be this happy. But having Castiel around calmed him. _Time is on his side_ , he kept repeating to himself, and no matter what betraying voice might show up in his head, Castiel would smile and everything would seem alright again.

“You know I love you, right?” Dean whispered into the crook of Castiel’s elbow.

Castiel exhaled, a trace of smile in his sleepy voice. “I know, Dean.”

“Good.” Dean nodded. “I know, too,” he said before Castiel even opened his mouth again.

“Good,” Castiel muttered into his hair. “Now sleep.”

Dean smiled.

Oddly, that was enough.

 

 

_We have not touched the stars,_

_nor are we forgiven, which brings us back_

_to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes,_

_not from the absence of violence, but despite_

_the abundance of it._

_\- Richard Siken, Snow and Dirty Rain_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first time writing DCBB, or actually anything longer that is fandom-related. I quite enjoyed it, even though I have a feeling that I left some things unfinished, and I might come back to this story. Still, it was a wonderful experience, and really cathartic in a way.  
> There are some people who I owe huge thank-yous to, so here it is.  
> First of all, a massive thank you to my wonderful artist, [diminuel](http://diminuel.tumblr.com). I still can’t believe I ended up with her, she is truly amazing, and I was unspeakably lucky that she chose my fic. I did not deserve her, she is a really talented artist and writer, and she is a genuinely great person.  
> Then, a huge thank you to my awesome beta, [Tina](http://mousebouse.tumblr.com), who put up with my chronic absence of articles, and was kind enough to convince me I made her cry. Also, because she commented on every little thing I was bugging her about.  
> And a not-so-small thank you to one p.a., who will hopefully never find this fic. Mostly because she talked poetry to me, and put up with me, and really wanted to read this fic even though she’s not in any of these fandoms (yet).  
> Honestly, there are some more people who - mostly unknowingly - contributed to writing this fic, in their own small ways, so one thank you to them too.  
> And finally, a huge thank you to anyone who read this fic to the end.  
> Your comments and likes are more than valuable, and deeply appreciated, and you can always find me on [tumblr](http://onehandfulofdreamdust.tumblr.com) if you have any questions or comments.


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